On the Edge of Darkness
by Sareth-the-lost-one
Summary: After a wild party, Claire gets attacked in the subway & narrowly escapes death. Next day she is found, after proper medical attendance & can only remember a voice. A voice leading the rich young girl to look deeper into the underground and darkness.
1. The mysterious helper

(Disclaimer: Original Darkman character setting is not my own, but Sam Raimi's. However, this story is mine. --- Note: I mused about how someone without lips could possibly speak, and figured out he could not do all the labial consonants, as m, p, b, v…. So I tried to adjust Darkman's speech to this a little, hope one can still understand what he says, when he is without his mask.^^)

"_I see the fear in your eyes – you try to hide your pain from me,_

_I can see behind your mask – you got a fragile heart of glass" (BLUTENGEL, Song "Behind your mask"_

Chapter 1: The mysterious helper

**=== New York / A subway station ===**

It had been their graduation party. More or less drunk already and full of fun the little group was on their way through the New York night life. One by one filed away home, until only Claire and her best friend Jenna rested together. They decided to have one last drink in the latest scene club and eventually got stuck there until 4 o'clock in the morning. Suddenly, Jenna felt sick and could barely manage it out on the street before throwing up. Claire wanted to call her a taxi, however as usual when needed the cabs were everywhere but there on the spot.

"There's a …sub station…" Jenna murmured and tried in vain to put her messy hair in order. "Think… gonna … make it."

"I don't think this is a good idea", replied Claire. "Let's go inside again and call a cab!"

"No… need fresh air! I'm just fine… walking…let's go to the subway!"

The two girls stumbled towards the next subway entrance. Shortly after they sat on the station and waited for what seemed an eternity. Some shifters arrived at the opposite track, and then it was lonely again. Claire could not remember having seen that an empty station in all her life in New York. Granted, she had not been out that long… and she did not use the subway very often. Her overprotective parents would surely be worried…. But what the heck, she was 23 now, and at the moment and after the passed exams she felt over exited and ready for all kind of adventure the world could offer! _Perhaps_, she thought, _I should color my hair black and wear contact lenses instead of these stupid glasses… uh… and I could learn to walk in these high-heels, Jenna likes! Yes, time to finish this mousy existence! _She laughed and embraced her friend. Tomorrow she would go and buy some really high-heels…

Finally, Jenna's train arrived and they had to part. With slow, dozy steps Claire went to the staircase. One instant later, she was wide awake, as two strong hands grabbed her. She squeezed her eyes, discerned two guys: a Latino-looking one and a bulky White with tattooed arms. They grinned.

"I… I have 50 bucks…" Claire said hastily and fumbled in her bag.

"Good, take 'em as surplus!" the Latino laughed and tried to rip the girl's jacket open.

She cried and struggled in panic. She knew some Karate, but now she was far too boozy for that. Nonetheless, she got away, but only a second. Then the white boy had her in his grip again. He seemed to have much fun in her futile attempts to escape. "Quite a wild cat, woowoo!" he yelled.

Claire called for help. No one answered; the station was as empty as if they were the last human beings on earth! She got a hit in the face and lost her glasses. Not knowing how, she ended up lying on the rails, one of the boys ready to jump down, too. Without a second thought, she was on her feet and on the run into the tunnel…

When she stopped, totally out of breath, she realized no one had followed her. It was nearly dark around her, only a little light in great distance. It was moving… Claire tried to focus.

_A train… O God, a train!_ Desperately, the girl stretched to move her trembling legs away from the danger. But where? The train was fast, so fast! And she was not fast enough to get into one of the little worker's hide outs. The passing subway grazed her and threw her against the wall.

**=== Underground near the shut down City Hall Station ===**

Once, he bore the name Peyton Westlake. But this was in another life. A life, long long gone by now. He lived in the darkness of the underground for so many years, that he found the name some people had given to him fitting. 'Darkman'. Yes, a dark man, a shadowy creature hiding by daylight and only emerging at night! He knew there were some myths around about him already, exaggerated stuff the most, like it was the case with myths. The truth was, he was tired. Tired of making his researches without the smallest progress, tired of checking the tests, tired of waiting and tired of hoping. More and more, he felt too tired to even leave this dark cavern for a walk outside. Some years ago, he had lived for his revenge on the ones who where responsible for this miserable existence. But now, he had had his revenge. The criminals were dead; some of them he had killed with his own hands. It had not given him any deeper joy after a first bolt of satisfaction. Their suffering, their deaths could not undo what was done to him, could not give him his old life back, his face, his family, everything he had lost!

With a sigh, he gave up trying to sleep and walked through the twilight of his hiding place. He had covered some of his sensitive equipment with plastic sheets; a thick layer of dust had settled down in the months. It looked as if a bunch of grey-clad ghosts where frozen in their movement by a powerful spell. In between, the remains of an old TV. He had smashed the screen in one of his rages, not willing to hear any more of these stupid advertising like "anti-aging-creams" or "best electronic shaver ever"… all this nonsense! And people out there spent millions to get these items, or they went through plastic surgery to look 20 years younger or more perfect. The thoughts alone made him outraged once. He would give anything to see a wrinkle in his real face!

However, now he was only tired. Too tired to feel any anger and disgust. He let himself fell into the chair in front of the broken tube and stared in the shards, not able to fully suppress his pondering. _How old I am now? Which date do we have? … I do not even know anymore the exact date, dammit! It's as if I'm already dead… How old? 42? 43? The Darkman does not know any age… I have the formula of ever lasting youth, you obsessed ones out there…do you want it? _His laugh was an ugly sound.

At this moment, Westlake heard a little whining, and discovered one of his animal companions closing in. It was Jerky, a bull terrier. He had found him some months ago, an abandoned puppy nearly dead.

"Hey, 'hat's goin' on? You already had your dinner, 'al!"

The dog whined and barked; he was used to the blurred manner of speech missing some consonants his master was condemned to and man bowed down and padded his back. "Are you u' to a little 'lay? 'iddle o' the night? Ah… 'hat does it 'atter, it is al'ays night here, isn't it, hey?"

The dog barked again. His behaviour was quite unusual. The dog was somewhat nervous, it seemed, and wanted him to follow into the tunnels. What was there? An intruder? None of the alarm systems Westlake had set up so carefully went on… So whatever Jerky was about to show him, must be outside the perimeters of his 'stronghold'! Perhaps a rat nest or something… Nonetheless he traced the dog. Jerky was such a good and loyal friend, like all the animals he had down here. For them, beauty and perfection was not a face or a figure; with their senses they penetrated such superficial things. Why then, should he not please one of his only friends and walk with him to his gorgeous findings?

…

Claire woke up in the piercing torture of overall pain. She tried to move; it seemed the thought alone was hurting. _The train…. I was… hit by the train…._ It hammered in her like thunder. Something… someone… touched her. Rats, she thought with horror, but unable to even flinch a bit. Then she saw a silhouette hovering above her. _A nightmare… a monster! _She wanted to scream. A weak moan was all she could mouth. The she lost concsiousness again.

…

Slowly, Claire's mind crawled out of the hazy state where it had hidden itself for nearly a day. Her body and head were still aching, but it was not the wretching pain of last time she awoke. She felt better. Had someone found her, brought to a hospital? She turned her head, tried to discern her environment. It was that… dark! No, this couldn't be a hospital's room! Or… was something wrong with her eyes? She panicked instinctively – being blind AGAIN was the most frightening thing she could imagine! While attempting to raise, she recognized her right arm was neatly bandaged, and other patches were around her hands and, she sensed, around her head. She tried to sit up further, but felt gently pushed back the same moment. She could hear a voice now, but not see anything clearly. The voice was male, deep, but soft and with a distinguishing timbre. The times when she had to rely on voices and sounds to imagine her surroundings were long gone, but Claire had kept the habit of paying attention to these things, more than other people. This voice was agreable and not frightening or threatening at all, and she found some confidence in this. Maybe this was not a hospital, however there was someone taking care of her… perhaps this was a shelter for the homeless… or some place of the police? She wanted to speak, to ask, but she sensed her head lifted and a glass of water on her lips. Yes, she was thirsty… And suddenly … very tired again… She sank back, trying to keep her eyes open as she discerned a person walking around her bed. It seemed to be a young man, but no doctor's outfit, no police officer. She was so tired… her thoughts wandered off and her eyelids fell.

**=== Bay Ridge / A luxurious manor ===**

This place was the opposite of the all-around-the-clock-busy Manhattan with its traffic jam, skyscrapers, noise and hectic – normally. Around the expensive manors along the shore road, it still offered the calm charme of an aristocratic era. However, this morning, it was very busy and very hectic in one of these estates! Dr. Frank Deveraux, owner of a little but precious factory for military technology, walked off and on in front of the police department's chief Captain Baxter, like a tiger in his cage.

"I do not know for what I spend my tax money!" Deveraux shouted for the umpteenth time. "My daughter is missing for 20 hours now, and WHAT DO YOU DO?"

"I'm sorry, I told you, I can't do anything. It's the law. We have to-"

"Law, what's this law, for Christ's sake?! I have the last message by Claire from the 10th, at 10 PM, when she went for the party!"

"Perhaps she is with one of her friends, Dr. Deveraux. They probably had a… quite intoxicating night, and went to sleep there."

"Not my daughter! She would call me, if she couldn't come home! She would not just vanish for 20 hours!" He shouted again. "Besides, I already talked to her friend Jenna. And she said having seen Claire the last time when she boarded her subway! My daughter could be in serious danger, held hostage by some maniac, injured, even killed! And you don't want to give the damn order for a search party!!! Ah, next elections I know who I will vote for!!!"

Anna, Deveraux' wife, put her arms around her husband, trying to prevent herself from crying and in the same moment calm him a bit. "Darling, please, don't get upset that way. Captain Baxter does all he can. You know, a person has to be missing at least 24 hours before the police can jump into action."

"So, if the police does not want to take care of this situation, I'll do it myself! I-" The ringing phone interrupted him. Nearly as fast as Anna, the worried father was there to answer it.

"Hello? Yes, this is Frank Deveraux…"

It was the Lennox Hill Hospital. He turned pale in hearing what they said, then let out an relieved sigh and leaned against the side board. "Anna, they have found Claire!" he whispered in her direction.

**=== Lennox Hill Hospital / One of the offices ===**

"She was been found in the subway station?" Anna Deveraux couldn't believe it. "AFTER she got medical attention?" As happy as she was to have her daughter back in relatively good shape, this whole thing sounded somewhat silly, as if a responsible person in the hospital tried to cover his or her failure! And after the emotional stress of the past hours, she wanted to vent this somewhere!

The middle aged physician sitting on the desktop repeated: "Yes, as I told you. The cleaning company found her this morning about 3.30 and reported to the local police station. She sat on one of the seats, cleaned and with professionally bandaged arm and under heavy sedatives. That's all I can say, Mr. and Mrs. Deveraux."

"Can we talk to Claire now?"

"Yes." The medic stood up. "Please, follow me." He was looking forward to get rid of these angry parents who seemed ready to sue him and the whole hospital for whatsoever.

Some minutes later, Anna embraced her daughter, and Frank Deveraux took her hand, murmuring with slightly shaky voice: "Claire, my little girl, do you know how worried we were about you!"

"I'm so sorry, Mom, Dad… I'm so sorry…"

"But you are safe, thank God you are safe! Everything is going to be fine, Claire."

Anna caressed her as if she was a little child. "What happened? We talked to Jenna, and she said you where with her in the subway…"

"I was on my way up, to get a taxi. Suddenly there were these guys, attacking me…" Claire covered the face with her hands. "I was so frightened. I ran off, into the subway tunnel. A train grazed me. Then… I don't remember exactly, until I woke up here."

"The doctor said you was found already having had medical attendance, and someone had bandaged your arm. Who had helped you?" If she spoke the truth, Anna Deveraux mused now – and she had no intention to believe her daughter lied – there was someone who deserved their gratitude for rescuing her, at least!

Claire shook her head. "I don't remember. I couldn't see anything… only blurred schemes. Lost my glasses, and it was dark."

_A voice_, she thought. _This voice…_ _But how should I describe a voice?_ She was sure to recognize it again, though. _Someone has helped me… someone living down there…_

"Perhaps the memory comes back later, when the shock is over", Frank Deveraux stated. He did not like the prospect his only child had been in the care of someone he did not know and she did not remember – even if obviously no harm had been done to her.

"Can I come home with you?"

"I'm sure you can. I only speak with the doctor in charge."

**=== Some days later / Underground near the shut down City Hall Station ===**

Westlake was on his way back from a nearby homeless-care-station, where he had aquired some dog- and cat food for his companions. The bag on his shoulder, he stepped carefully down an worn out iron ladder and then crossed into the tunnel of an old sewer. Some time and some rusty and grafitti-sprayed doors later, he was on the ground of his 'stronghold' again. He could already hear Jerky barking and one of the cats just jumped down from her resting place and moved towards him – a grey shadow blending perfectly with the twilight. In his mind, the Darkman smiled.

Then something else caught his attention. A little shiny piece on the ground… a coin perhaps? Nothing of value for him, but he could throw it and the cat would run after it for fun. So, he lowered down, not paying attention to the remains of an old broken strut shortly above the ground. The sharp metal scratched over the side of his hand and he recoiled with an instinctive movement. Some seconds passed, before he realized, what froze. He stared at the metal strut, then at his hand again. Tiny drops of blood ran along and fell down. But this was not, what absorbed him now. No, the pain! The short sense of PAIN was it!

_I shouldn't feel anything… they said I couldn't feel anything anymore…I have not until now… how is this possible?_

It took him a considerable amount of willpower to restrain from probing this discovery by a more violent attack against himself. He only stood there without moving, until the cat had reached him and twined around his legs. Now he finally picked up the shiny piece from the ground. It was a silver pendant; a little flower winding around a heart. He remembered having seen it on the bracelet of this young woman he had brought here some days ago. She must have lost it during the transport back to the subway station. He put it in his pocket. Perhaps he would make a collar for the cat…


	2. Reach through the twilight

CHAPTER 2 **Reach through the twilight**

_You disappeared in the darkness of the night __–__ I wanted to follow you but something stopped me (BLUTENGEL, song "soul of ice")_

**=== Bay Ridge / Deveraux Manor ===**

Anna Deveraux lowered her voice until it was barely audible against the background of the chimney's fire. "Frank" – she never addressed him as 'Frank' except she was really concerned about something. He raised his head from the newspaper immediately. "Yes?"

"I think Claire should see a shrink. She still can't remember anything. Maybe she suppresses the truth. This can cause serious trouble, if neglected. I spoke with Lauren about it today."

Up on the staircase, Claire backed off as silently as possible. She had been on her way down to the kitchen to get something to drink.

_What? I don__'__t need a psycho-shredder-thing! And certainly not by Mom__'__s best friend! I__'__m fine!_

She went back into her room and her bed again, but let the light switched on, a habit reaching back to her childhood days. Days of darkness, of blindness. Even if it was not dark anymore if she opened her eyes now – she liked it more if at least one little light was on.

**=== In the Underground ===**

_I should not feel any pain. I should not feel anything! They separated the nerves from my spinothalamic tract. There__'__s no way I COULD sense anything!_

Peyton Westlake repeated this again and again, still incredulous after hours of self tests. His fatigue was completely gone and had given place to his old scientific curiosity. Nonetheless, he had no neurological equipment for more sophisticated checks. However, it was clearly no figment of his imagination. The result was the same. Every time. He could feel some sensations, in certain parts of his body, mainly the right side. His hand was the most responsive. But he sensed strong heat and coldness on the skin of his legs, too.

_How is this possible?_

He stroke over his face and massaged his neck. He could even feel the coldness of his fingertips. _What happens to me? How can this BE?! _He recalled the damned implant this criminal physician had put into him. But he had removed the item then. Except a nasty infection, which had pinned him with fever in his bed for days, nothing had remained. No side effects whatsoever! He had been as unresponsive to pain and other physical stimuli as before. So, the implant from years ago could not be the source of this… this…

Westlake was not sure how to call this change. He did not believe in wonders. A curse, rather? _Will I completely loose my mind? Or find a method to control the rages?_

One of the cats jumped on his lap. It was the grey one, the oldest. Smokey was her name. Somehow, despite all his sinister musings, the Darkman suddenly felt a nearly childish flame of joy inside. He stood up, with Smokey in his arms (who looked not quite happy) and danced through the cavern. He could feel again!

**=== In the streets of New York ===**

"My gosh, that must've been terrible!" Claire's friend Jenna said, while the two young women walked through the shopping lane. "I feel so bad about this…"

"It wasn't your fault. The mayor should pay more security personnel in the subway, my dad said, and that's right. I won't take the subway anymore, anyway. Dad will buy me a car. Then I will always be late, because of traffic!" Claire rested and watched the display in one of the expensive clothing stores, but without really paying attention. She thought of the plan sending her to a shrink. She had escaped this so far, and she did not want to talk about it to her friend. In the opposite corner the miserable figure of an old homeless cowered, trying to find some warmth. Had it been one of these people who had rescued her down in the subway, she wondered. _Perhaps he had been afraid he would end up in jail if he showed with me in the condition I was then… If I only could remember something… _

"Hey, Claire! Hello? Where are your thoughts?" Jenna waggled her right hand in front of her eyes. "I asked you what you think of this scarf there. Would it fit with my hair color or not? Should I rather take the cashmere one?"

"Ah…uhm… sorry. Guess I'm a little tired. I would say, take the cashmere." It was one of the fastest decisions she had ever made, not being interested the slightest in the matter, now.

Jenna smiled and hugged her. "I am sorry, my dear! Shouldn't have dragged you along on this shopping tour so soon after the incident!"

When Jenna entered the shop, Claire preferred staying outside.

…

Half an hour later her friend showed up again and wanted to persuade her going in for shopping herself.

"I cannot", Claire replied. "Not enough money anymore."

"What?! You took over a hundred Dollars with you! What did you do in the meantime?"

"I gave some bucks to him… ok, lots of bucks", she said, with a gesture to the homeless. Jenna gaped. She looked as if she had just seen a green-skinned Alien walk past her. "You're kidding, right? … Come on… you can't be serious!"

"I am."

"All this flee bag will do is buying booze or drugs! And you waste your money?!"

Jenna's reaction made Claire angry, because she started to feel silly about her decision some minutes ago. "I did it, okay?" She retorted defensively. "Just drop the topic!"

"Hey, calm down! Didn't mean it that way." She caught up with Claire again, who marched in front of her. "What I wanna say is, it's not OUR responsibility if some people screw up their life! It's the job of the Salvation Army or the Local Welfare! You shouldn't rack your brain about this… Woa… this scum is stinking! The shop should have a security here to remove him… Let's go over to "Toni's", I'm starving!"

Claire sighed and then shook her head. "No… thanks. I'm really tired. It's better I go home and take a nap."

"Okay. Whatever floats your boat! I accompany you to the cab station, then. Hope you are fine again tomorrow, for Peter's party. You know, my brother finally got his lawyer's diploma!"

"Yeah… of course. I'll be there." However, Claire was not so sure about it. She was not sure about many things, lately.

**=== Two weeks later ===**

"_Claire, are you really sure? This kind of… work…?" Anna Deveraux had asked with a timbre betraying her disliking. "I appreciate your social engagement. But… wouldn'__t it be better if you participate in our annual charity ball, instead of distributing food in a homeless__'__ kitchen?"_

"_I'__m sure, Ma", she had answered. "It will be no problem. I already spoke with the responsible, Mrs. Copperhead. I can work one day a week in the kitchen. This won__'__t be too much! It would only be for some weeks, until I take up my master-studies. And I won__'__t start until my arm is healed, of course…__"_

Now, two weeks later and standing behind the distribution desk of the kitchen near the Central Station, Claire remembered these proud words and had to revise them a bit. The work was straining. Her legs hurt and sometimes she found it hard to overcome the repulsion she sensed. Some of the homeless waiting in a line were in that bad shape, dirty, toothless and ill… and, as Jenna had said, stinking…

…

The Darkman closed his coat and grabbed his hat. He did not exactly WANT to go out, but he had to: Jerky had injured his pawn on a rusty nail. A visit in the veterinary's clinic was better, he decided after trying to help his dog in vain. It was one thing if HE died – but not one of his furry companions right under his nose! Therefore, Westlake went on his way, the head covered with bandages as always the last year when he left his underground stronghold. He had used his artificial skin only when he had cared for this girl some weeks ago – in case the sedation won't work properly, he had not wanted to scare her to death with the view of a monster! But the durability of this 'prosthesis' was still limited to 120 minutes. This was the most he could achieve, given he was not exposed to plain sunlight! And 120 minutes were not enough to get Jerky to the vet and back…

As expected, the people in the waiting room at the vet's clinic stared at Westlake as if he would spread a contagious disease, notwithstanding that his cloths were clean and orderly. A child carrying a little rabbit and watching him in curious awe, was actually snatched by her mother and started to cry. This was, what hurt him most, even after all those years, all this time he had not gotten used to it. This pain was nothing any surgery could remove. The gazing of the people, full of disgust and horror the ones, with awkward mercy the others. No one treated him like a human being. In his former life, he had worked with a lot of more or less disfigured persons, due to his profession. He thought having treated them with respect and humanity. Now he was in their place… and he was an outcast, a monster for everyone else. He sat down near the door, padded Jerky and waited. Perhaps, it flashed through his mind, it was a curse indeed to partly regain his ability to feel. It would only make the loneliness more devastating.

Nearly 3 hours later the dog and his master were on the way 'home' again. It was already getting dark. Jerky was in playful mood again, after the medication. Despite the bandage on his leg, he jumped and 'fought' against the leash._ Looks as if you need some serious work out!_ But Westlake was hungry and when he discovered one of the Salvation Army's soup kitchen on the other side of the road, decided to line in. A table was there filled with different donations from local super markets. However, the favorite in this wintertime was surely the hot soup and coffee! An elderly woman in uniform distributed slices of bred. Next to her, a young woman, obviously a volunteer, looked after the soup.

And… she seemed familiar… Stepping closer, the Darkman recognized her face. It was the girl he had rescued in the subway some weeks ago! She looked fine again; so everything went well for her. Good – he had hesitated first letting her sit in the subway unconscious and waiting for the cleaning team to find her. In fact, he had been standing in the shadows observing until he had been sure she was safe. He advanced in the line of the waiting, a very unruly Jerky at his side. Only for a very brief moment the ridiculous fear this woman might recognize him crossed his mind. _Yes, really ridiculous,_ he scolded himself, closer to cry than to laugh, though. The moments when he forgot his appearance, became rarer and shorter, nonetheless it happened from time to time.

Suddenly, Jerky jumped up and barked like mad. Another man, a young black with ragged cloths and a mutt of a dog had come. Already drunken, he bleated and tried to push Westlake and two other people aside. "Ey, get your fucking dog outta my way!"

A gramp with long beard opposed and tried to calm the youngster, with the only effect that he yelled even louder about "white assholes" and the "fucking government". Westlake raised his hands to show he would recede and leave the place. All of a sudden, the young man had a knife in his hand. Before the officer from the Salvation Army could step in, Jerky was about to attack. Westlake seized him in the last second; and only he with his superior strength was able to get the bull terrier down and appease him with hasty words. The other people stood around him, while the angry youngster used the opportunity to grab a bunch of food and then get lost.

"It's okay. He 'on't do anything. Ha' hi' under control. 'lease… all okay." The Darkman stood up again from the pavement, Jerky firmly in his grip on a short leash this time. The bearded old man stepped closer. "Just wait aside here, man. I get you a nice cup of soup. And something for the dog, too."

"No, thanks. It's okay. I go."

Claire listened. Listened very carefully. First, she watched, too, but then she closed her eyes and just listened. It was him! No mistake. She was absolutely sure. The voice was a little blurred, not as clear as she remembered, but the characteristic intonation and timbre was there! Ah, moreover, he was about to leave! Alarmed, Claire turned to her colleague nearby. "Uh…Mrs. Copperhead? Sorry, I got to go for a moment!" Not waiting for the – supposedly negative – answer, the young woman ran away from her place, and around the table. "Wait! Wait, Mister!"

However, the man in the long brown coat and with the strangely bandaged head was on the flight the next second.

"Please wait! Just wanna thank you!"

He did not stop, and with his long legs, was much faster. Two lanes further Claire saw him lifting a gully cover and vanish inside. In the twilight of the evening, she did not trust her own eyes for a moment and simply stood there. But the Darkman was gone. Claire sighed. She felt bad somehow without knowing why. She owed this man her life, and could do nothing for him, not even say thanks or give him a warm soup. She had considered herself beaten by destiny so very often because of her bad eyes or her boring hair or anything else now sounding very stupid to her. Other people had experienced far worse, obviously…

A pang formed in her stomach when she walked back to the kitchen.

**=== Somewhere else in New York ===**

A nearly empty faceless apartment. A man shutting down his laptop, cursing. A moment later, his celly rang. On the other end was an angry voice.

"No, dammit, no success yet", the man on the laptop answered. "Can't get into his computer! It's a high level firewall protection. What do you think, what I'm doing here? Hacking into a high school-computer system? … Yeah, yeah, I know… I know Chang will see results. And I promise, I'll deliver them within a week."

+ I hope so,+ the voice from the celly sounded. + You know what's at stake! We need these schematics, and if we can't break into this damned computer, we get the information out of his brain! Understood? +

….to be continued…. Please review….thx


	3. Angel with broken wings

"_Was it an angel ?- It must have been an angel with broken wings" (BLUTENGEL, Song "Soul of Ice")_

**=== Bay Ridge New York / Claire's home ===**

When Claire arrived at home, she was still upset and disturbed from her experiences in the soup kitchen, and this not because of the reprimand by Mrs. Copperhead for leaving in the middle of her work. She thought of this man with the bandaged head. Why did he run away? Who was he before he ended up in this misery? She knew many stories about the homeless already. Some Mrs. Copperhead told her to prepare her for the work, others the people shared themselves when they waited or sat there eating. Claire had heard of lost work, lost family, drug addiction, crimes and prison – a road leading deeper and deeper down into the crap if on it once. Some had been betrayed by family and friends, robbed by their relatives. Others had speculated too high, invested in the wrong goods. Suddenly they crouched out on the street without anything and with nearly everyone their enemy ready to steal the little rest left. Mrs. Copperhead mentionned the "mole- people", too. "mole-people" – called after the non-human monsters of this old Science-Fiction classic… The ones who lived underground, in the subway or other tunnels, in darkness… This was the most awful imagination she possibly could have. _In darkness like in a grave…Seeing nothing…_

And this man? He had helped her – and like the nurse in the hospital had said, quite professional. He had not even taken her watch, her bracelet or her expensive cellphone. The only thing missing was a little pendant, nothing really special or precious. She assumed to have lost it in the tunnels during her flight.

At first, Claire wanted to talk with her parents about the encounter. However, her father was still at work (some super secret new rocket guiding system, this was all she knew) and she found not being able to tell it her mother. She simply did not know how to start. It was true, Anna Deveraux had talked about huge gratifications for the one who had saved her daughter's life. But… promising in this mood was one thing, talking about this encounter another. Perhaps her Mom would donate to the homeless-fund and this would end the topic for her. Worse, bring up the shrink-thingie again. Better not! So, Claire ate her dinner and then went into her room. She had mused calling Jenna, but figured out she could not speak to her about this, either. She could imagine her best friend's look hearing this story – a mixture of disgust and amusement about 'odd obsessions'. _Is it 'odd' to think about a person who has saved my life? More than thinking for hours about the right pair of shoes for one evening?_

Claire stood up from the bed in which she had laid down without finding sleep and, with a glance to her buzzer, realized that she was pondering about this stranger for hours now.

How weird! Really. Perhaps Jenna would've been right thinking this…

Nonetheless, Claire switched her computer on and began a google-search for 'mole-people' and related subjects. About three o'clock in the morning her mother knocked. "Claire, darling? Everything alright? Frank saw light in your room when he came home…"

The young woman rolled her eyes. As nice as her parents were, sometimes they treated her like a kiddie! "Of course, Mom! Couldn't sleep and was reading a bit!"

"It is this work with these homeless. You are not made for this kind of occupation, believe me, Claire. You are far too frail. You should stop it."

"I'm fine. Don't worry." Sighing silently, she shut down her pc and went to bed again. Still, her mind could find no rest.

_Mole-people. Darkness. Poverty._ She felt pity. She wanted to do something for this man. Somehow… He had looked that… haunted before he fled.

**=== In the underground near the Central Station ===**

…"Peyton, there's something I want to talk about with you." Julie Hastings smiled and shove her curly brown hair back. "I hope you'll have time this evening?"

"_For you I have always time. I'm nearly done with the last tests. I can leave right now and we go out for dinner!" He stood up, grabbed his jacket. Julie was already at the door. _

"_Julie, wait!"_

_She still smiled, but walked further, strangely without turning away. Her figure only went smaller and her silhouette was dissolving._

"_Julie! Wait! JULIEEE!"_

Westlake startled from his sleep, looked around through the dimly illuminated surroundings. His heart raced and he felt a suffocating pain clutching his throat. When he touched his face, he discovered it was wet from tears. He took a deep breath. He hadn't dreamt of his lost fiancée for years. It must have been the encounter with this young woman in the soup kitchen. Something in her, the way she looked at him, had reminded him at his last meeting with Julie. A meeting which he broke up by running away at last. Westlake had never seen her again; all he knew was that she lived in New Jersey, with a husband and two kids. He was grateful that Julie at least had a life, a real life. Something he was not able to give her anymore. He was glad, yes. Was he?!

All of a sudden, his despair burst out in a violent flame of rage. He took an old strut and smashed it over the cooking items, a newspaper storage and a pile of data disks. The pain he felt in his palm as the metal cut the skin only made him madder. He could feel again – for what? For what this joke of nature, against all medical theories?! FOR WHAT? The next hit would have destroyed some of his research equipment. Only Smokey the cat prevented the worst, because she was old and a little slow, and Westlake nearly scraped her tail. The cat jumped up, with a panicking shriek, and he let his makeshift weapon fall immediately, back to his senses. No, he would never hurt his cats or another of his animal friends down here! Never, never he would allow that to happen!

Smokey crouched behind a container now and regarded him with wide-open green eyes.

"Sorry… sorry old 'riend…co' out… 'lease…" Some time passed before the cat showed up again. Westlake kneeled on the ground and waited, until Smokey put her head in his hands again and purred. He cried again.

_I have to learn to control this,_ he thought. _Don't want to loose my senses completely and become an insane maniac… _He decided to take a walk through his realm to get a clear head and check, if something else was wrong.

**=== Somewhere nearby in the underground ===**

The man in the stealth outfit opened a graffiti sprayed door and vanished into another world, which was the opposite of the one he just had left. The place behind the door was clean, first of all, properly lighted and filled with the soft hum of several electronic devices. A young guy sat on a table and turned around when he heard the newcomer. "So how's goin'?"

"Shit." The other man fell on a metal chest standing on the ground. "Our source inside dried out."

"What? How'd you manage this shit again, Diego?"

"I had no other choice. This asshole freaked out and I caught him calling the police. Bastard!"

"Yeah… these business types are weakies… First greedy like hell, then whiny lil' kiddies."

The man in the stealth outfit spit on the ground and searched for a cigarette.

"Don't", his companion warned. "No smokin' in here. Sensitive equipment."

"Fuck your equipment, man! Have you got access to the damned computer yet?"

"Only partially. The schematics for the guiding system are secured with random password protection. We need a code to break the code."

"We won't make it in a week…" Diego lightened a cigarette despite the protests. "The boss will feed us to the piranhas…"

"It's YOUR fucking fault! You killed our only inside source!" The two criminals were ready to jump at each other's throat. Only the beeping alarm of one of their systems hindered them. "What's it?"

Diego poked against one of the screens, showing a tunnel system. In the twilight, the silhouette of a man in a coat showed up, walking slowly down to the old water pipeline. "It's only one of these creeps. Mole-people, drunkards. … I could go out and finish him."

"And draw attention or what? Creep yourself! Let this scum go, isn't a greater problem than the rats! Let's think about our REAL prob! What do we have for now to present it Chang?"

Diego fumbled in one of his pockets and threw a CD over the table. "Basic schematics and all sorts of related stuff."

….

The Darkman passing by in not such a great distance from the hideout wondered about the fresh footsteps in the mud. Normally, no one of the other homeless living in the underground came that deep and close to his 'stronghold'. He had to be more alert the next days… He did not want anyone down here. This was his refuge, the last barriers no one should take down! The more time passed without human companionship, the more he got anxious and reclusive, willing to close tighter the walls of his self-chosen prison.

**=== Four days later / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Claire had literally moved the thought back and forth in her mind, until she was finally resolved to make it reality. She would step down into the sewer herself and bring something with her to show the unknown rescuer her gratitude. He had not showed up again at the soup kitchen – what she had hoped – and the more she was concerned he would need some help. She had heard about the first homeless this year dying in the cold weather…

Of course, there was one thing, one HUGE thing making her push away the decision again and again. She would have to go down. There were rats. There were spiders and other little critters. It would stink. Probably there were people in the underground not so kind as her helper. And: darkness! Claire was afraid, her heart raced at the imagination.

She could hear her mother talking in her mind _"It is too dangerous. What do you think, Claire-darling? Are you out of your mind?"_

_Am I out of my mind? _She asked herself again and leaned back. In front of her on the ground was a backpack, already stuffed with nearly the whole household's pharmacy. Someone living in the underground would need these items… Two Maglites with batteries sufficient for a week-long expedition also rested in the bag. Nonetheless, Claire was nervous. She had mused about taking a drink, like Jenna did to overcome her fear of flight. But what if she slipped down there? And then… would need help again instead of providing it? No, alcohol was not an option!

_I can do it. I can do it. I can do it. _She repeated this to herself like a Mantra. Around midnight, she stepped down into the kitchen and filled other useful things in the backpack. It looked as if a robber was on his tour! She smiled a little, but the very next moment her anxiety prevailed again. She was only hoping her mother did not catch her doing this. Eventually, she had everything she wanted. On the way to the door, the young woman stopped again. Everything? What else a homeless could need? She looked around. Yes, some blankets, perhaps! She ran back into her room to take one at least and left her home packed like someone going on a winter hike.

**=== In the underground ===**

Claire had informed in an internet board about possible entrances to the New York underground. She took a cab up to Central Station, then walked down into the direction where she had seen vanishing her rescuer in the sewers some days ago. It was cold and misty, a really nasty weather. Perhaps a snowstorm would come soon. It was said to be warm down there, but Claire could not quite imagine it would be a comfortable place to let the winter pass … She was freezing and fear rose up in her, as some drunken people showed up on the other side of the street. _I should've taken Dad's gun with me_… she thought.

Not able to lift the gully cover, she entered the underground via an open basement nearby, which had been marked in the internet board. From there, a short tunnel (probably left over from the times of prohibition last century) lead down into a shut down subway part. Claire shivered. Every step cost her new and more effort. She hated this: darkness, strange noises, dirt, the smell of rotten things! After some minutes, the urge to flee back upwards was nearly overwhelming. This had been a crazy idea! A donation to the homeless fund would've been enough and less dangerous! And how could she be certain to find this mysterious man anyway? Perhaps he had left the city, or was in a homeless shelter! Claire's hands were that sweaty that she let her flashlight drop. It fell down into the waste water with a clanking sound, was out and gone. Claire was in panic immediately. The time until she had unpacked her other Maglite and switched it on was a horrible one, filled with the darkest imaginations.

Finally, she had managed it. She was surprised to find a pair of curious green eyes staring at her. A cat! The animal did not look neglected, but had shiny and thick fur. It meowed and twined around her legs. Now, Claire discovered the collar and the little pendant on it. It was her's! That meant…. The young woman smiled. It was weird, but the presence of this cat which seemed not shy at all, gave her a sense of security. She followed the grey animal further down the tunnel, through doors and under spiderweb-covered arcades. Until the gloominess lightened up and she could discern parts of a human installment in the distance.

However before she could react, a voice reached her. His voice!

"Who is there? Don't co' closer!"

"It's me, Claire. You have helped me in the subway, some weeks ago, after I was hit by the train. Do you remember me?" She tried to see something, but a shadow was all she could figure out. "Hello? Don't be afraid. Only want to thank you." She stepped forward.

"Stay 'here you are!"

He said more, but she could not understand the blurred words. Yet it was obviously he was afraid she would see anything … anyone… _Perhaps he has illegal stuff here_, Claire mused. "I have no police with me, I'm all alone!" She assured, finding it more than strange to talk to someone she could not see. "I brought you some food and medics… In case you need anything. Hello? … I put everything down here, okay?"

"Thank you." The voice sounded a bit closer now, but still nothing was to perceive. "You are 'ery kind."

"Uhm… you were kind to me! So… do you need something else?" She thought at the bandaged face she had seen in the soup kitchen and added: "Any special medical help? I could get you to a doc."

"No. Need nothing. You ha' to go!"

(tbc – next update will come in 4 weeks, because I'm on vacation in Egypt)


	4. A Drop of Hope

_(managed to write another chap before I go into vacation! Please review, thx)_CHAPTER 4: A Drop Of Hope

**=== Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

"What did you think? Heavens, Claire, do you have any idea what could've happen to you on this… this… nonsense trip?" asked Anna Deveraux despite the fact she had done so quite often during the last 30 minutes. Claire sat on the couch in the living room. Her mother had already expected her half mad of fear, after she had discovered the lights on in Claire's room and her daughter missing in the middle of the night. When she arrived back at home, her dirty boots and smelling cloths betrayed every attempt to find an excuse like 'I've been with Jenna'. Therefore, Claire had told the plain truth – and was covered with reprimands and worries ever since.

"Mom, I've met this man who rescued me", she made a last effort to show her family the bright side of this adventure. "You said yourself we have to show him our gratitude somehow! And I thought –"

"Showing our gratitude does NOT mean you should go down into the sewers for that!" Mrs. Deveraux raised her hands and shook her head. "What did you think, Claire-darling?" She started her lament again.

"But-"

"These people living down there, they are… well, how should I describe it? They are not only dirty. They are probably drug or alcohol addicts. Junkies, do you understand?"

_I'm not five anymore! And I worked in the homeless' kitchen! _However, the young woman was in no mood to drag this discussion further.

"…Often they have psychological problems. Lauren told me once about an awful thing happening to one of her colleagues. I don't want to repeat it. All I try to say is, these people can be dangerous. One second, they play nice guy, and in the next, they press a knife against your throat. They are… like animals. Yes, that's it."

Before Claire could react in any way, her father cut in. Until now, Frank Deveraux had listened silently. Now he ended the arguing with a determined "You won't go there again. And you'll stop this engagement at the soup kitchen. It obviously had a bad effect on you. Now go to your room."

Claire hated it to be treated like a child. For her parents, she would never be grown up and her Bachelor's graduation was worth nothing! And the incident in the subway had made things worse, of course. She sighed. Why the heck hadn't she called a taxi instead of complying Jenna's wishes?! Nonetheless, she went upstairs without another word.

Crawling under her blankets, she recalled the events in the underground. It had been scary, yes. However, she could not imagine her mysterious rescuer to freak out and attack her. He seemed very… cultivated.

Claire remembered walking back the way through the tunnels she had came before, alone. Then, he was suddenly behind her like a ghost or a predator and declared "I will escort you. There are many unpleasant things around here."

First she had not even dared to look at him. He had been that reclusive… Maybe he would do something nasty if she stared at him, she had mused. But when a fat rat crossed their path Claire jumped sideward, found herself face to face with him accidentally and was more than amazed to discover a rather handsome young man. Not that he had spoken much. Although Claire had realized that suddenly his words were not as blurred as before, more like she remembered from her time being in his care first. She was curious why he had used these weird bandages when he came to the soup kitchen – he seemed not mutilated or attaint by any skin sickness. She did not ask, though; this she judged very impolite. But she pondered again about the strange situtation and this strange man, while she lay in her bed now.

**=== Meanwhile / In the underground ===**

Peyton Westlake had reached his stronghold again, carefully detached the mask of surrogate skin from his skull and placed it into the kryogenic storage. There it could rest until it was needed again… Then he went checking the goods this woman had brought. The thought felt oddly out of place. Not only that he was not really in need for the things he now unpacked – even if it was always nice to have extra food, especially this good one, and medication. But the fact, that someone just had CARED for him… He shook his head, while he unwrapped another meat can. As the years had passed by, he had assured himself quite often that he cared about no one anymore. Of course, he had helped this or that person with money he had stolen from criminals, but this was not really CARING. It was just some superfluous stuff he did not need and therefore easily could give away. He did not help because of the urge to alleviate the sorrows of some people, but to be a pain in the ass of others. This was part of his revenge. So he kept saying for years. However, revenge had lost its meaning, had become a withering, fading old paper on which the words were vanishing. The Darkman would never have admitted this, but the only person he really did not care about anymore was himself.

He took a box with sausages from the backpack. 'For your dog' was written on it. His face contorted to the remnants of a smile. Suddenly, he felt warm inside. _She has thought of everything… A remarkable woman with a good heart…_Something he considered to be very rare. A lot of people, the most perhaps, were greedy, clutching cold hearted on their own success and threw every other person aside hindering them to get it. Jerky whined at his side; already he had smelled the sausages. Westlake unpacked one of them and gave it his four-pawned friend.

On the botton of the backpack rested four bottles, carefully wrapped in old magazine pages. But it was not the content which had pinned his attention. It was the text on one of the crumpled pages! It seemed to by some sort of Journal of the Columbia University, issue last month. And the words printed there pierced his mind:

'…announced during the annual conference of our medical department a breakthrough in bioengeneering. Professor Varinapam declared being able to create durable living skin samples for surgical transplantation. The base of his work, novel-prize winner of 2001 Varinapam said, were the researches of Dr. Peyton Westlake, who tragically died ten years ago without being able to finish his promising work…'

Where was the next page?! Hastily, he unpacked the other three bottles. There! At least a part of the text!

'… Flaws in the creation process, which lead to a rapid cellular degradation as soon as exposed to certain wavelenghts of light. After searching for years for a solution, Professor Varinapam discovered a DNA-resequencing procedure using genetic information of deep-sea species. The main line…'

_Dammit! No continuation!_ He stared at the pages until his eyes began aching, without even noticing Jerky's begging for another sausage or the meouw of the cats.

_Durable living skin samples for surgical transplantation…_ How often he had dreamt of reaching this mark; how desperately he had hoped! Thousands of times, again and again – without getting the desired result! Now it had been done! It had been DONE! Westlake stood up from the ground, feeling dizzy from exaltation. Hope was back. It had lasted years to kill the hope – but it had needed only a little spark to ignite it again. And a tiny drop of hope was enough to transform his ocean of despair. He had to meet this Professor Varinapam! He had to speak with him by any means! His heart raced in exitement.

How to find that scientist? Columbia-University… this was a Journal from the university, so he highly probable worked there. He ran to find the phonebooks for the city. They lay dust covered like other books on a makeshift shelf, three years old, but better than nothing. He had needed them for one of his raids, and then no more, missing a telephoneline in his refuge. He filed them frantically. No Varinapam! Dammit! But he could have been a conference guest, too. Perhaps this woman knew more? She had used the magazin as wrapping paper, so she must have any connection with the university… and knew more about this conference, so he would get an anchor to start with his search for Varinapam. Westlake regretted to never have hijacked any internet access down here. He had feared this would allow his enemies to find him – but now it would have made things so much easier! Nonetheless, no time to worry about lost things! He had to act!

This woman… Claire was her name, she had said. And he had checked her ID when he found her in the subway, just in case. It was a French sounding last name…Delaruelle? No…_ Remember, man!!! _ Yes… Deveraux! And she lived in the Bay Ridge area… Westlake reached for the phonebooks again.

**=== Next day / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Susanna, housekeeper of the Deveraux, was a middle aged woman with an agility betraying her round forms. At the moment, she had just finished her duties and was about to bring the garbage out, when a taxi cab stopped some meters away and a young man left the car. He headed straight into the direction of the Deveraux' mansion and Susanna watched out curiously. A boyfriend of the young lady, perhaps? Claire seemed far too reclusive, for Susanna's opinion anyway…

"Good morning, Ma'am. I'm looking for someone. Miss Claire Deveraux. Does she live here?"

But Susanna's sensibility for Claire's social life did not hinder her from being a little suspicious. Moreover, it was never good letting any would-be-boyfriends march along without the slightest obstacle! A truth she had inherited from her grandmother.

So she answered slightly crispy: "I'm not at liberty to answer any stranger showing up, Mister. Who are you?"

"My name is Westlake. Dr. Westlake. From the University. I'm here because of a conference. It is very important that I speak to Miss Deveraux, please. She … knows me."

"Well, Mr. Westlake, I'm afraid you have to wait a while. Claire just went down to the library. If you want, I'll show you the guest room, and I can make you a tea."

"Thank you, very kind of you. I don't think I'll have the time, though. Perhaps I'll-"

"Ah, wait! I see her car!" Susanna interrupted him. "Seems you are lucky!"

Claire parked and walked up to her parent's home with grumpy air. "Imagine, library is closed because of a broken water-pipe!" she called in Susanna's direction. A second later she recognized the man besides the housekeeper, as he turned around. Claire let nearly her bag drop on the pavement. Before she had put any reasonable sentence together, Susanna began to speak: "That's destiny, Miss Claire. As you have a guest from the University, Dr. Westlake here, who has to talk to you!" She smiled, and Claire did the same in order not to compromise anyone (and cause stress again with her parents) – and simply because this man had a gorgeous, heaven-melting smile himself.

"Ah… yes! How could I forget! I'm such an idiot! We are upstairs, then!"

Shortly the young woman wondered if her mother would be right and her 'guest' would grab the situation to do something nasty. But then she skipped the thought. It was ridiculous! He had had enough opportunities to take her hostage or anything else her mother was always afraid of.

Shortly after, they sat in her room. "So. Mister Westlake… you are from the University?" Suddenly she felt really silly and mentally kicked herself in the buttock. But was it her fault he lingered around with the homeless?! Why hadn't he said who he was in the first place?!

"Not exactly from the Columbia, even if I studied there some years ago. I'm more an… independent scientist. Biocybernetics."

"Aha… uhm… and you work there in the underground?"

"I have many light sensitive materials. And it is … good to hide."

"I understand! My Dad is in some super-secret weapon's research thingie, too. I'm sorry I thought you were a hobo! Have made an idiot out of myself because I brought you food and stuff, right?"

"I appreciated your concern." His gaze wandered over the walls of her room and the bookshelfs. It felt … so STRANGE to be in a normal household again! Like any normal person! The windows… the curtains… the carpet… the pictures on the wall…

"….should I bring you something? A coffee?"

"No, I have not much time, I'm sorry", he answered, concentrating on the topic at hand. "I came to know more about this event. This man." He shoved the two crampled pages from the university gazette over the table. "We have similar research fields, and much to my regret I missed this conference. Was too … buried in my work."

Claire took a look. "A conference of the Medical Department… Hm… I'm from the artistic… I don't think I can help you with that. Perhaps my friend Jenna … her boyfriend studies medicine. But I cannot call her right now, she's in the Fitness Center, it is Monday." She read further. "My God… artificial skin… sounds a little creepy…reminds me of these old monster movies!" She raised her head again and was abashed by the expression in her guest's eyes. "Sorry. Don't know why I said this. Just didn't think."

Westlake looked away until his view rested on the fotograph of some statues by Raffael. "No need to excuse. You are a student of art. You have to love beautiful things, not the contorted, wretched ones."

Claire found he sounded very hurt, though. And she felt compelled to rectify: "Not all artwork is what you would call beautiful. And… beauty is decaying rapidly. Paintings crack, statues break, you know. It's exactly the same. Like humans."

"Yes… beauty is such an elusive gift…" He still stared at the fotograph.

"If you want to wait, I'm sure Jenna is at home around 1 PM."

"I can't stay. I'm sorry." He rose. A fast peek at his watch told him he only had approximately 60 minutes left.

"If this is because I just said these stupid things about your work – Of course, I know, many victims of accidents will be very grateful about this discovery." She pointed at the article.

"No. I have an urgent appointment. But if you could … try to figure out if Professor Varinapam is still in the city?"

"Uh… yes…sure. Should I call you?"

"I'll just drop by this evening; I'm in the area again, then. If this isn't bothering you."

"No, not at all!" She didn't know why the prospect of seeing him again soon made her that happy, but it was the case.


	5. The Underground Palace

**=== New York / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Claire had been waiting behind the window and observing the street for half an hour. When she finally discovered Westlake leaving a cab, she ran out. "Hello, again!"

He looked serene and somewhat apprehensive, and Claire felt silly immedeately. This was not one of her friends, she reminded herself, and she should not act like a little girl!

"Good evening," he answered. "I hope I have not disturbed you too much… You got any information about professor Varinapam, Miss Deveraux?"

"Oh, no, you do not disturb! No prob! I was hanging around anyway. Vacations, you know… Concerning Varinapam: I called my friend. She said he left New York this morning for a conference in L.A. But he should be back in a week for a lecture at the Wellington Institute." She fumbled with her hair and was sure she looked awfully young! Jenna, she thought wryly, would have thrown all her beauty and charm into the way of this man, and surely she would've won the game, as she always did with the boys crossing her way! And when –

"This lecture, when will it take place?"

"Next week, as far as I know."

"Next week…" It was as if from one moment to another the sun shone into his face. Not only his lips smiled, his eyes too; his whole being seemed to radiate suddenly. "That's … wonderful news, Miss Deveraux." How in God's name should he endure the waiting?! Now that the hope was back and the deliverance that close?! Life was within reach again, his own reach! Life was ready to grasp! One week… And he would finally step out of the darkness! The Darkman would DIE! _… Getting your life back?! Don't fool yourself! It will be a patched-up life, no matter how you look like on the outside! And the blood on your hands will not vanish by it…_

"… I said… uhm… idiotic things this morning," Claire's voice sounded again through his thoughts. "About your work. So… what about an invitation for dinner, as a kind of reparation? I know a nice Greek restaurant over there."

"Why not? Sounds great to me", Westlake answered before his rationality could kick in. He was hungry – not for food, but to catch a glimpse of normal life again, quasi as first rate of the awaited deliverance. Then he glanced at his watch. Hundred minutes left… "I have not much time, though…" Nonetheless, he followed her to a car parking nearby.

"That's mine", Claire explained and padded the hood. "Dad doesn't want me to use the subway anymore!"

She took place on the driver's seat, and Westlake next to her.

**=== In the restaurant ===**

It was a cozy little place with plants in little pots and replicas of Greek statues in niches. It was nothing special, and some people even would've said this was an example of bad taste. However Claire liked the place because of the oasis-feeling and because it had been here, where she had decided to study art, still a child then.

For Peyton Westlake it was a trip to the normal life's past he had lost long ago. He savored everything, like a prisoner on shoreleave. The meal was delicious, even if it did not really matter to him, what exactly was on the plate. It was the whole ambiance that counted; the fact that he was sitting here on a table with white cloth and a candle in the center, talking about normal things… Not using the faked identity of some crime boss with the goal to destroy another evil network… No, a simple, normal dinner in a simple normal restaurant! Only now he realized how deprived of everything he really felt.

"…You find me boring to death, right?" Claire said smiling. "You did'nt say a word for the past 15 minutes at least! I'm sorry, you are a busy scientist, and I load all this nonsense stuff onto you. Guess this is the worst dinner invitation you ever had…"

"No, it's very interesting. I just listened. You have a beautiful voice."

She flushed.

"… and I liked to go in Art Galleries, when I was still… When I had still more time", he finished.

"Some folks say, studying art and art history is something for the rich who have nothing else to do and who have not to bother with finding a job for a living later. Well… perhaps that's right. I don't know exactly what to do later…" Claire grinned a little tortured. "You must think I'm one of these unnerving High-Society chicks! I mean… you have a significant work. Helping people, being a doctor – it's something useful, not superfluous like art…"

"I don't think art is superfluous", he answered, his eyes half closed and lost in thoughts. "Some people with whom I worked have lost everything… their old life, their face, their identity. Their relatives turn away or show nothing more than awkward mercy for the freak… while they silently wish he would die and spare them further meetings… These patients need someone explaining them how to find beauty in the world again. They need art more than a doctor giving them a new face, perhaps… Otherwise they do forget that there is not only pain in the world, but still simple things like… like this candle or this plant."

Claire had listened and watched her companion in silence. A feeling crept through her, reminding her very much of the one she had while working in the Homeless-Kitchen. She felt sorry for the people in need and she sensed an urge to help, however did not know exactly how.

"Now I am the one who has destroyed a wonderful dinner invitation!" Westlake ended his ponderings and forced himself back to the dessert and the wine on the table. "I have to apologize."

"No. This was really… philosophical…I can understand, what you mean. It's like someone who has been blind and has to learn to see again."

He nodded, but kept silence. Claire did not speak, too. But the silence was not of the uncomfortable sort. And a low, soft music perled through the room like a distant watercourse. The loud alarming beep of Westlake's watch disrupted the atmosphere in an instant. He stood up, that fast, that some other guests turned around. "I'm sorry. I have to go! An urgent appointment." He took a hasty step towards the exit, but then stopped, holding a bunch of money in Claire's direction. "Please take-"

"Hey…It was MY invitation, remember? You don't have to pay anything! – Moreover, I can drive you, you don't have to call and wait for a taxi!"

"No! I mean… it's okay. It is late already-"

The watch beeped again.

"Sounds urgent indeed! You don't work in the ER, do you?"

"-I cannot expect you to drive me, Miss Deveraux! – I have to go now! I'm sorry! Thank you for this evening!" With that, he was out of the door, running.

**=== Same night / Bay Ridge / At home again ===**

Claire had felt butterflies in her stomach the whole drive back to her parent's house. By the way she reached her room upstairs; the butterfly-colonie had grown into the one of the Tropical Institute. She threw her bag in the corner and let herself fall on the bed. She was in love, and it felt that good! She had to talk to someone! Right away! Otherwise she would burst! Her parents were at the theatre…so… Jumping up again she grabbed her celly to call Jenna. As expected, her girlfriend was pure hilarious excitement.

"Oh my! What?! … That's fantastic! Lucky one! Tell me, who is he? I wanna know everything!"

"He is just… amazing…" Claire replied and realized that she did not know very much and therefore had little to tell. "He looks … what should I say… uh.. just great! Tall, lean, handsome… with a smile that could melt the polar caps, believe me! And he is polite, thoughtful, intelligent…"

"Wow, that sounds really super-fantastic, Claire! I'm so happy for you! – Where did you meet your dream prince? Is he in your art history class? Where does he live?"

"He works at the university," she answered and slipped into a lie easily: "He lives at the Campus. There I met him, at the library…" No, it felt not right to lie in this matter… Claire's joy gave place to a strange anxiety, and suddenly, she did not want to talk about it at all.

"Really?! Then I'm sure I've seen him yet!" Jenna yelled in the phone. "Don't know why a guy like THAT did not caught my attention, but, yeah, the opportunity was waiting for you, honey!" She continued in her excitement and then stopped abruptly. "Claire? What's up? You are so silent… Don't tell me… he is married, right? Aw… but… hey, that's not the end of the world, you know…" Jenna began to unfold all her 'lifetime's experiences and wisdom'.

Claire did only listen partially. _I do not even KNOW where he lives,_ she thought, _I do not know his phone number! And I do not know if I ever see him again!_

**=== In the underground ===**

Westlake stopped his modified rail truck, when the computer announced some people crossing the tracks. He switched the lights off and waited, hidden behind the main panel. He could see the people now. They carried flashlights and one of them a suitcase. They were clad in black and camouflage clothes and did not have the air of poor hobos. For now, Westlake did not care. Almost certainly they were some kind of criminals, but they were far from his perimeters. He would not bother them as long as they did not bother him! Soon, he would've left this place…

_One week…_

How should he contact Varinapam? He could not simply show up at the university… Well, he'd find a solution! And then… He would combine his research results with the ones of the professor. They would get stable samples of useful size, not on a microscopic scale! He remembered the promising results got 8 years ago in the lab of this damned traitor… Only after some hours! And now… within a month or two, he would perhaps have back his face! The Darkman ignored the warning voice in his head not to become too confident. Hope was such an amazing thing! He did not want to loose it again; he clung onto it this time, knowing if hope left him again, nothing would be worth to live for anymore…

…

The four men sneaking through the underground had passed the tunnel. Suddenly, one of them stopped in his tracks.

"What's up?"

"Thought I'd seen somethin'…"

"It's a service truck, moron!"

"Somethin' movin' inside…"

"Rats, what else! Stray cats! Move your ass, man, or do you wanna stare into the tunnel the whole night?!"

They walked further, until one of them asked: "So, what's with the plan?"

"The Boss gave his okay. We'll get this fuckin' bastard and drill the information out of his brain." Roaring laughter followed. "Some action, finally! Was getting sick of this screen monitoring!"

"When is D-day?"

"Next weekend. We get'em on his way home, on the passage to the park. Nice lovely spot for a lil' kidnapping!"

…

Westlake worked the whole night browsing through his papers and data disks, untouched for over a year now. He assorted everything, compiled singular files and copied them, put papers together and wrote anew, what was illegible because of dirt and dampness. He did not feel any exhaustion, now that he had something to work for, the rushes of Adrenalin were a very welcomed help. In the darkness of the underground, he did not notice the daybreak. Only Jerky's barking and the cat's more and more urgent meows made clear it was time to feed his furry companions. When they sat satisfied in front of their bowls, the man continued his work. Somewhere among the loose papers a picture caught his attention. Julie… Cautiously, he cleaned the surface of the photo from the dust and regarded it. Julie. In resting, tiredness slowly crept up in him. He closed his eyes. This young woman, Claire Deveraux… something in her reminded him of Julie. The way she tilted her head … her look... He could not quite pinpoint it. The photo in his hand, Peyton Westlake fell asleep. In his dreams, the faces of Julie and Claire flew into one another. For the first time he did not wake up screaming, when the sequence came where he tried to follow Julie and could not reach her anymore. This time he saw himself just standing in the door and watching darkness fell.

**=== Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

"It CAN'T be," she said aloud and rubbed her eyes. She was staring at the computer screen for hours, and outside the first sunrays penetrated the cloud layer. It had been impossible to find any sleep last night, especially after the talk with Jenna, who had stirred up all kinds of sinister theories. The butterflies in her stomach were still there – a thought of his face or the recall of his voice was enough to set them in swirling motion again. But there was this other uneasy feeling now… Was he married or was something else "wrong" with him? She could not be that lucky to find such a fairytale-prince, right?!

Claire decided to let a Google search run with his name and/or his research field. First, to prove her dark thoughts wrong. Second, simply out of curiosity. And now she was staring at the Google output. There had been some articles in medical newspapers, all ten years old and more; some notifications and citations, conference programs. And then, there was this: _'…we deeply mourn the loss of our appreciated colleague Dr. Peyton Westlake… 5__th__ of March, 1995…' _The press announcement was accompanied by the photo of a funeral and some people standing in a laboratory, around Westlake himself. Claire found more condolences and news, saying all the same. Peyton Westlake had died 10 years ago in an awful accident in his laboratory. The whole building blew up then. No one had found his body, though. But after such an explosion, no one COULD have found it, Claire added. Or…what? Insurance fraud? No, this didn't make any sense. People doing such things did not spend their life in the New York underground with scientific work – they vanished to South America or on a yacht to Asia! What was going on here? She switched the computer off, let herself fall back on the bed and tried to think. The puzzle pieces of this man she knew so far would not fit together.

_Perhaps it is good I have not his phone number and do not know where he lives_, she mused while slowly dozing off. _He made no steps showing me he would be interested the slightest in seeing me again… and so I won't…_

But fate decided otherwise.

**=== Two days later / Central New York / Near the library ===**

Claire had been on her way back from the library, where she had tried to get other things in her mind and to prepare for her master studies. And to avoid her mother's idea of inviting the 'nice and promising' son of one of her beauty salon girlfriends. Anna Deveraux had obviously picked up this guy as future son-in-law, even if until now Claire had been absolutely not worth a look for him! Well, she wasn't interested in this young banker with the stylish blonde haircut, anyway! Her thoughts rested again on her mysterious new acquaintance, and she marched faster, a little angry about life and fairy-tale-princes in particular. It had started snowing. Until she had reached her parking lot, it snowed that heavy, she could barely see anything. Next corner she collided with another pedestrian. She grabbed her bag firmer (in case it was a pickpocket), then opened her mouth for an excuse. The words never left her, because she looked in Peyton Westlake's face.

"Ah… well… hello! Uh… had not thought to… run into you… what a coincidence…" She laughed and hoped not to sound too confused and silly. Her mind raced past signs with "he's supposed to be DEAD!" written on them and "just say hello and WALK by". Her feet rested on the street.

"A happy coincidence, Miss Deveraux," he said. "After I had to leave so fast last time. Did not even say Good-bye."

"Yes…uhm… this doesn't matter. I mean, I know, you are quite busy." She found that it didn't bother her at the moment to talk with a supposedly dead person. She was happy herself, despite all the 'warning signs'. It simply felt too good to be in his presence again! She would think about the other things later… surely there was a rational explanation. One not including ghosts, vampires and all those things! She was only too blind to see it now.

"So… you were over there in the electronics store, right? Needed some stuff for your research?"

"Yes. One of the devices… did not function properly anymore." (He had kicked it off the table months ago, and it was broken since).

"You are still working down there?" Claire asked. "Is it not too cold by now?"

"No, if you are in the right spots, it's warm and comfortable."

"Sounds as if you speak of your home! … You practically live there, do you?" She was not sure if she really wanted to lure any information out of him or not. She just asked and hoped not to get any "bad" answer. She did not want to run and never see him again!

"I have… much work… very much work. And some things I would like to finish before I meet Professor Varinapam." They started walking together down the road.

"You ARE too buried in your work!" _Buried… _She had to find out about this "being dead"-problem, somehow… He was hiding, in the underground, or with bandages on his face like she had seen in the soup kitchen. But hiding from whom? Why couldn't she fall in love with normal guys like Jenna did?!

He had stopped, watching some snowflakes melting on his glove and Claire did the same – mainly in order not to stare at him. "When I was a kid, one of my cousins told me a story about children getting lost in a snowstorm and being kidnapped by an evil elf prince who brought them in his underground palace. I was so afraid after this; I did not want to go out when it was snowing, that year!" Claire remembered.

Westlake turned his head with a strange look in his eyes, haunted and hurt. "Real monsters do not live in the underground", he said. "They are in the sun, next to us, ready to destroy other's life. And some monsters are… right inside us and doing even better work of destruction."

She wanted to say something, but before she could speak, he smiled again and continued. "Funny, these childhood stories, aren't they? However, the underground palace does exist! Shall I show you?"

**=== In the underground ===**

Claire could not explain herself, why she followed him down; in the subway first, then through a service area, where he blindfolded her. She said to herself, she SHOULD be afraid – nonetheless she was not, only excited because something dark and mysterious, but wonderful, was waiting ahead. Not even the fact that she couldn't see anything anymore frightened her. She felt that safe beside him, sensing the warmth of his body through the fabric of the coat. She trusted him and silenced every other voice in her head.

Peyton Westlake silenced the drilling warning voices in his mind the same. The past days after he got the information Varinapam would be back in a week, he had been filled with energy and excitement. He could barely find sleep. He did not want to be alone, without human companionship now. His mind was too close to instability. He needed someone to talk, something for diversion. At least – he glanced at his watch – for the 50 minutes he still had time! 50 minutes left of the illusion of a normal life! Three days until the professor's scheduled return…

"We have arrived – but don't look yet. I have to procure more light!"

Claire rested where she was, her heart hammering. She could hear some strange sounds, the sizzling noise of electricity. And the air smelled slightly of burned plastic and ozone.

"Now look! The underground palace! Could need some cleaning… but…"

She was speechless in surprise. They stood in a large hall, she discovered now. The walls were covered with glazed ceramic tiles, with bands of floral ornaments. The orange and yellow color glinted like gold in the light. Above, a Victorian style glass roof, now partly broken and covered with earth and debris. Some chandeliers were still up. The place looked lost in time, like a sunken ship.

"Where ARE we?" Claire finally managed.

"It's the old City Hall Station, closed since 1945."

"This is… this is unbelievable… I didn't know about it!" She turned round and round and felt exactly like an archeologist who has found something gorgeous beneath the dirt of the ground!

"Nearly no one knows. This is my … private enchanted palace."

"Let's dance! This is the right place for it!" Claire stretched her hand and started humming a waltz.

"I don't think I am a very good dancer," Westlake answered, and for once the warning voice got through.

"Oh, me the same. My teacher always says I move like a farmer's girl in hay dance! But… no one is watching us here!"

He pushed the warnings back again and took Claire's hand. 40 minutes left, until the elf prince would change into a demon again. 40 minutes wonderful illusion and another advance payment of the awaited deliverance…

(With this scene of them dancing through the old City Hall Station, I leave you until the next update! I assure my readers, it will not go on as soapy as it is now^^. Pictures of the station can be found at the internet easily – and sometimes, there are tourist tours!)


	6. Terrible news

**=== New York underground / Old City Hall station ===**

It was silent. The two people stood underneath one of the remaining glass domes, arms folded around each other. Motionless, enchanted in an unreal place. Westlake desperately wished to touch this woman without gloves, to caress her hair… explore, how it would feel to sense her… how much would and could he feel again? Claire held him; it seemed she was afraid of moving because it would break the spell. He found her incredibly beautiful and appealing. He longed to sense her. How would it be like…? She had her eyes closed, and her mouth was an alluring, sweetness-promising fruit. How would it feel…?

Westlake felt himself bowing his head to reach her. Their lips nearly touched….

_What are you doing?! Stop this! Are you out of your mind?! _Rationality snapped back with the utmost brutality. "You have to go!" he commanded, still fighting to get the ground back under his feet. His heart raced, his whole body hurt from the effort just to push her back.

Claire's mind was still hovering in the fairy-tale-realm. "Why?" she answered playfully. "Because the prince will turn into a monster every minute and keep me prisoner in his castle?"

"You have to go, I said!" He was angry at himself. Which devil had possessed him to take this woman to this place?! What did he think, for heaven's sake?! Did he loose his self control in this matter now as he did on other occasions?!

Claire looked at him, uncertain how to react and surprised about the sudden change of mood. A thousand things burst into her thoughts, like 'now he's getting cold feet because of his wife, just as Jenna said'. She wanted to say something at least, something friendly, uncompromising – nothing had happened, in fact, so there was nothing to be sorry about! However, before she found words, the alarm of his watch echoed through the underground hall.

His expression changed once more. She saw a glimpse of naked panic in his eyes. "Come! We have to hurry! I take you to the next subway station!" Westlake grabbed her hand and dragged her along to the narrow path upstairs. "Hurry, please!" It sounded as if a horde of ready-to-kill-vampires was right behind them.

Claire attempted to collect her thoughts, but was not able to do so. His now quite obvious fear settled into her, too. What was going on here? Going on with him?! She did not dare to ask, she had to watch her feet. The old iron staircase cracked. He lifted Claire up the next steps, and then nearly carried her through the following muddy passage. A train could be heard in the distance.

"If this is because you are married, I –"

"Don't turn around! Just walk! Hurry!"

They left the service tunnel running. He held her tightly at her shoulders, preventing her from slipping on the wet ground, but also from turning back and facing him. Finally, they had reached the last graffiti-sprayed door.

"You only have to go through and down on the other side."

Claire's fingers closed around the door grip.

"Go! Nothing will happen. The station is on the other side!"

A faint click behind her, and the lights went out. Claire felt seduced to turn around, to catch a last view of Westlake or say a word, but she did not. She wanted to get out of the darkness as soon as possible. So she pushed the door open, stepped through. Only a moment before it slammed shut again, she swirled around, stared back. Peyton Westlake was gone. This time, she was sure never to see him again…

**=== Next Day / Bay Ridge / Claire****'s home ===**

"No, I don't wanna come to Kara's party, I told you!" Claire was ready to simply hang up the phone. Jenna unnerved her. Parties unnerved her. Everything unnerved her!

"But why? You wanted all those weeks! You'll see it will be fun, honey! Lissa just called me and said her cousin will be there, too! The one from the Air-Force, remember? You always had a crush on him, hadn't you?"

"I don't wanna come. I can't. I… do not feel… too good. Think I might come down with something…. I have to finish now, sorry. Call you tomorrow. Bye!"

Claire was cross with herself. She repeated in her mind, she hadn't 'lost' anyone, because this man hadn't been her boyfriend in the first place! Heavens, she would not even know his forename, if not from her internet search! He had shown her this spooky place underground, ok. He was a little weird, like all those guys who were buried in their work or computer stuff too much. He was officially dead! He had odd habits! He was not interesting AT ALL! Why couldn't she listen to herself?! And the butterflies in her stomach did not want to leave either. They were stubborn little creatures!

The young woman sighed, and then decided to go down and watch a little TV. Her father was at home in his office, working on a 'sensitive secret project' – obviously 'sensitive, secret projects' were something men cherished like toys! She sat down and grabbed the remote control. Not exactly in a mood to concentrate her thoughts on anything else than Peyton Westlake, she zapped through the channels. On CNN there were pictures of a plane crash, and she stopped to hear where the accident had happened. A minute later she held her breath.

'… on board was also Dr. Ravi Varinapam, Nobel-Prize-winner in medicine and biomechanics, with whom we talked only yesterday in our feature ….'

_Shit… _Claire couldn't believe her ears. No survivors of the crash? … And Peyton had already looked forward to the meeting with Varinapam that much! What would he do, if he got the news? Her first impulse was to call him, until she remembered she had no number to call.

**=== In the underground ===**

The computer monitor went into pieces, when Westlake threw it down on the pile of other broken equipment. Disks and papers and glass tubes, with bloody spots on them from his already bleeding hands. For now, rage made him senseless again. His world had stopped spinning the moment he had heard the news of the crash in the radio. It had stopped. His hopes, his life, his future, forever! It had stopped and shrunk to the dangerous nucleus of a black hole of desperation, and then it exploded. Blind from tears, he stumbled across something. With a roar, he grabbed the next thing his fingers could reach and smashed it against some storage containers. Electricity sparkled. In the distance, Westlake heard Jerky barking, but this was a sound from another world, one in which he did not belong anymore. The sizzling electricity however, was quite real. He struggled to his feet, reached out for the loose cable in front of him. The Darkman would die! The one way or the other!

But this time, his body betrayed him. The electricity shot through him in a pain which was more he could handle. He winced back instinctively; his mind was not strong enough to force him. He fell against the containers and hit the ground together with the rusty metal boxes. The little bit what left of his world, was darkness and pain.

**=== Two days later ===**

Claire had been to the university in the secret hope to meet Westlake there, exchanging condolences with colleagues and students of Varinapam. Nearly the whole day she was there, in and around the Medical Department. She crossed the path of Jenna's brother; that was all. Of course, she reprimanded herself, now back in her car, with a head dizzy from too much talking. Of course he was not there! For he was supposed to be dead as well!!!

Later the day, a nagging feeling started to settle in. She tried to ignore it, let the rest of the evening pass, a sleepless night and half of the next day. However, the feeling grew and bothered her more and more. Something was not right. Something awful was going on! She could not name it, but it was there. Her mother would say she was imagining things and that she badly needed psychological help!

When Jenna called, Claire agreed to an evening in the cinema. And now she was sitting in the chair, fidgety moving back and forth. She had no clue what this movie was about. Some stupid guy and a red haired hysteric woman chasing one another – so what was the point? How could Jenna find this amusing?! The weird feeling still tugged. Claire held out another twenty minutes, and then she excused with headache and was on her way out. It was about ten P.M. when she arrived at home. Only some minutes later she sneaked out again, with the direction subway underground. She refused thinking about possibilities and dangers right now. She knew if she began thinking, she would probably run back. And the feeling in her said, she would regret it for the rest of her life, if she did so.

**===In the underground ===**

Claire found the way back into the underground she had used last time without difficulties, even though the encounter with a drunkard right before the entrance still sent shivers over her. Now it was quiet; her feet made the only sound. After the situation outside she felt nearly safe here. It was damned cold! Her breath formed white clouds, and the light cone of her Maglite danced over ice-covered walls. _How could anyone still work down here_, she wondered. She recognized the graffiti on the old brick wall and knew she had to turn right, then down the steps. This was the place, where she had met the cat last time…the cat with her pendant on the collar. This time, nothing welcomed her from the darkness and silence in front of her. She stepped further, and her bad feeling was nearly overwhelming by now. Already she had reached the spot where she had put down her backpack. In the flickering, orange light of an old lamp on the ceiling she could discern the disorder here, totally different from the last look into this realm. Her feet crushed shards and other debris. Somewhere a dog whined. Peyton's dog? Had someone attacked him and destroyed the lab? She had heard of harsh concurrence among scientists; the one or the other might have chosen desperate measures to get an envied colleague out of his way… Or maybe this chaos was the result of some junkies out for trouble and destruction… a youth gang…

She walked further, calling his name. No answer. She sensed a lump in her stomach. _O God, I won't find anything very, very bad…will I?_ She trembled. The dog barked and whined again. The next moment Claire discovered the figure stretched out on the ground some meters in front of her. She bent down, feeling very sick suddenly. "Peyton?"

The shine of her flashlight wandered over his chest; he seemed to breathe at least. A second later, Claire froze in shock and nearly let her Maglite drop. Was this man Westlake at all?! Yes, he wore the same cloths. She stared at the horrible remnants of a face below her for what seemed an eternity. The pieces of the puzzle fit together, all of a sudden. She understood… and decided that this knowledge was nothing that mattered. What her eyes saw, was not important. Never this was important! Hastily, she crouched down, tried to lift him up. He was that cold! She peeled off her furry winter jacket and wrapped it around his shoulders. "Peyton? Wake up! Wake up!!! … Shit!" She wondered, if her celly would work down here and she could call 911. What if he did not wake up? She could not carry him! Then she fumbled after the bottle with water she had taken along in the backpack. Cold water was certainly not the best choice in his condition, but perhaps it would wake him at least! Claire emptied the bottle over his head.

It worked. Coughing, Westlake regained consciousness. He blinked and discovered the woman at his side. She saw anger, pain and then simple exhaustion sweep through his eyes, before he fell back again. "So… 'inally… you see the… 'onster o' the underground…"

She shove the backpack under his head. "What happened here? Who did this? Have you seen anyone to report to the police?"

"'aht ha'ened? Tried to 'inish… 'hat these 'astards started ten years ago…" A short bitter laughter let creep coldness over Claire. "Not quite… success'ul…"

"What are you talking about? … Stay down, I don't know-"

He pushed her back, got to his feet, but his legs gave way again and he sunk back to his knees with an angry growl. "Go a'ay! 'lease… go…just GO!" He felt tears burn in his eyes. She should not see him that way, and yet she was there and stared and did not turn. "Go! It's o'er! E'erything… is O'ER!"

"Listen… Peyton. I know these were bad news… the plane crash and so on…" Claire did not exactly know what to say. This man was so completely different from the one she had known so far! However, she cared deeply, and she wanted to help. "But… but this is not the end! Don't give up hope yet! You can-"

"I did not gi' u' ho' 'or ten years!" Westlake wanted to shout this at her, at the whole world, but felt too weak. Jerky twined around him. He did not notice it. "All I got were insta'le sam'les… useless!"

"Varinapam may be dead, but… his research is not. It is all there at the university. You can work on this base…"

"Yes!" The ugly laughter again. "I just 'alk in there and take 'lace at his desk!"

Claire put a hand on his back. "Please…"

"Go. I don't need your acts o' charity. 'etter donate the' to the ones in the ho'less' kitchen!"

Nevertheless, he couldn't hush away the young woman that easily. And did he want to at all? He did not dare to ask himself this question. His mind was a huge, black hole of pain.

"Why are you hiding? Why … didn't you get any help in a hospital after the accident?" Claire wanted to know.

"Oh I got! I lost 'my 'ace, and they took a'way the a'ility to 'eel any sensations! Great hel'! They created a senseless 'reak! 'wonderful human lab rat to 'lay with! " He slammed his right hand onto the desk, forgetting the cuts in the palm and let out a cry of disgust.

"But now you can feel again…" Claire took his hand, careful like something precious. "So it starts to get better?"

_It__'s an even worse curse_, he thought. "Go, 'lease. You can't understand. Lea'e 'e alone."

"Are you kidding? I can't leave you here alone in this mess! You need medical attention! Come on, I get you into a hospital; I take care you get the best treatment available! Down here in this cold you will die! The weather forecast said it would be another 10 more minus the next days!" She heard the dog sniffing next to her and added: "And I take care of your pets!"

"No. Go and … ne'er co' here again, Claire."

She stood there without moving, and he could not summon enough strength to simply pass her and go alone. "Ha'e a shelter in one o' the old trains," Westlake continued. "And an electric heater. Just… hel' … o'er there."

The young woman was not sure she had understood the words correctly. Nonetheless, she could not force him to come with her. So at least she would see to it he did not stay in the cold without care. Therefore she nodded and helped him up. Indeed, there was a place in an abandoned wagon, with a mattress and blankets and more storage containers. She discovered the electric heater, too. It was one of the newest models, a thing she found reassuring, normally not putting too much trust in these 'fire starters'. However, she turned him a deaf ear concerning renewed pleas to leave. She could not do this. She simply could not! She had to stay and look after him, at least until tomorrow, until she knew he was in a stable condition. This decision let another problem pop up, and a huge one! Grabbing her celly, Claire went out of the wagon. It was worth a try! The provider said it should work in subway tunnels… Well… She dialled Jenna's number.

Her girlfriend was up and in a good mood, even if it was already 2 o'clock A.M. "Claire? Is that you?" she yelled. "Can barely hear your! Where are you? What's up?"

"Jenna, I need a favour…"

"Of course, that's what friends are for! So what is it?"

"I'm here… uhm… I mean, I won't go home this night, and I'm afraid my parents discover it and worry. You know them. And then they'll call you first. So I thought you could just say I'm with you and I will show up at home in the morning? Please, it's important!"

"Wow! Don't tell me! You are with HIM, aren't you?! Of course I calm your parents! Hey, hon, this is so great! Where are you two hiding? You sound like calling from New Zealand!"

"I'm in a… sort of cottage… in the countryside. And I'm afraid my battery is nearly exhausted, I have to stop now!"

"'Course. Don't think about your parents! I'll manage them!" Jenna made a kiss through the phone and Claire breathed a sigh of relief. Should she think whatever she wanted! Then she went back inside. Westlake sat on his sleeping place. The grey cat had made herself comfortable besides him, and he caressed her. Only the heater and the one old lamp outside on the tunnel's ceiling provided some light. Enough for her to see he cried. She wished, a wizard would show up and she really could be in a nice cottage with the charming prince from the first encounter.

A moment later Claire realized she was hungry and thirsty and freezing, despite the heater. Something hot to drink would be good, not only for her 'patient'… She asked for the possibility to make a tea or something and felt silly. It sounded as if she was on a camping trip! This whole situation was absurd!

"Outside. In the alu-container." He had given up saying she should leave.

Claire found not only a little cooking device running on propane, but all sorts of cans and food packages. _No wonder he enjoyed the visit in the restaurant that much_, she thought, while arranging what seemed useful to her. Dog- and cat food was there too. Already, she was surrounded by Jerky and four cats, which followed every movement until she had their meals ready. She wasn't exactly a good cook – in fact she had never set foot in the kitchen, except for talking to the housekeeper. So her mix of instant noodles and corned-beef was perhaps a little adventurous. She did not care for now, because it smelled good.

…

Claire cowered on a pillow on the floor of the old subway compartment. They had eaten in silence. Perhaps Westlake had thought she would only comprehend a tiny bit of what he said anyway. She did not know. But she would've preferred talking to get the dark musings out of his mind and the apprehension out of hers. And she liked to hear his voice even though. The young woman turned her head towards the mattress where he slept, the grey cat on his legs. She probed for the butterflies in her, which had embarrassed her that much the past one and a half weeks. They weren't gone, but they were not as agitated as before. It felt as if they had settled down, and the battering of their wings had created a warming fire in her. A fire of pity and charity, she asked herself, reminding Peyton's words. Maybe. Claire had no possibility of comparison. However, it felt not that bad. She went over to him and lay down at his side. In an instant, she was asleep, too.

…

_Julie! WAIT! _

Why did this dream invade him again?! Why didn't this stop?! The fight against the illusion was as useless as ever. The events enrolled. Nothing could stop this. The very next moment Julie's silhouette would just vanish in the darkness as always before… No. The dream was not as it used to be! Julie was not gone. She turned around… and she was not Julie anymore, but Claire. She walked… back to him, embraced him. The palpability of the touch let him wake up immediately. Above him was the familiar structure of the old wagon's roof. Nothing but a dream. No, the warmth of a body next to him was still there, was real. He barely dared to turn his head, afraid even this would manifest itself as an illusion of his tortured mind. The feeling and the sight did not vanish. Gently, he put his arm around her. He did not want to hope again. Not the slightest drop of hope should fall into his heart, he swore. Only a little moment of peace, of dream, of illusion once more. A short escape.


	7. Look into the abyss

**=== In the New York underground ===**

Peyton Westlake stepped through the shards of his laboratory and through the ruins of his life. His fingers slid over the broken surface of a picture frame. The photo below was scratched as well, Julie's beautiful face destroyed like his own. Everything was destroyed…

He had to go; far away from all these lost hopes! He would never get stable samples; perhaps it was simply not possible! Despite everything he tried, it would not happen! And Varinapam, the last chance, was dead. Westlake cut off the memory of Claire's suggestion about remaining search results at the university and the possibility of continuing his work. It WOULD not happen. He could not go back. He had looked far too long into the darkness, into the abyss, and it had claimed too much of him. He did not WANT to hope. He would not even think about this subject anymore! It was over! He had to leave all this behind and go and – _and do what? Searching a new purpose in life? A new job, a nice home in the green suburbs?! You are a pathetic idiot!!! The only thing you can do is suit yourself in the life of a homeless, at the marge of the society! _He sat down on one of the overthrown containers. A life in misery and darkness… till the end. To end it himself, he was not ready; at the moment at least his rational mind was prevailing. Still he was a scientist, a doctor, not a madman… not most of the time…

Westlake smiled sadly. His hand closed around a blue, Indian-style silk scarf, which had been on the ground. Claire must have lost it when she left this morning. He sighed and closed his eyes. The solitude had always been a burden since he had confined himself to this existence. He had loved to work with other people, to find solutions for a problem in combined effort. And he had loved to go to concerts, into theatre… Yes, the loneliness was the heaviest of all chains bonding him. Claire had been here for only some hours, and yet he felt like a prisoner thrown even deeper into the pit after she was gone. He hadn't slept a minute after he had put the arm around her last night. Too precious was every moment of this last illusion of normality and the warmth of another human being close to him… He had to leave this place indeed. To leave and forget HER! Otherwise he would go mad for sure.

**=== Bay Ridge / Jenna's home ===**

Claire sneaked into the estate of her girlfriend through the garden door, after Jenna had deactivated the alarm system. Her parents owned a huge mansion here, and contrarily to herself, they left her daughter quite a lot of liberties. Jenna looked tired. She had been to a club after the cinema, this she confessed yawning while the two young women took place on the couch in her apartment. Nonetheless, she was curious to hear the news from her friend!

"Tell me, how it went? I'm DYING for curiosity!"

"I love him," Claire said plainly without even bringing her mind into action. The words came by themselves. Only then her rationality stepped in. _What did I just say?!_ She sighed and let her head fall into her hands.

"O great! But… you spread the aura of being on a funeral! What's wrong, honey? Hey…" Jenna padded her back. "You can tell me, you know! He has to divorce first? He does not mean serious business?"

"No… It's complicated… more complicated, I mean." She did not want to lie, but she felt not up to tell the truth either. There was too much chaos in her right now. "Did my mother call?" she asked to change the topic.

"Yep. Told her you were sleeping here. When do your oldies finally realize that you are grown up?! – I'm alone all weekend, by the way. My parents went to Las Vegas last night, for the show of this… uhm… I forgot; doesn't interest me anyway! The important thing is I have my peace and quiet in the whole house! If you want, you can come over this afternoon again."

"Maybe…"

"You really need a little cheer-up! But first, some breakfast!"

**=== Later the day / Claire's home ===**

"I've invited Carlton for your birthday party… Claire, darling? What do you say?" Her mother, busy arranging some flowers on the dinner table, turned around.

What should she say? That she hated it when her mother invited guests for HER party? That she found parents nauseating who named their son 'Carlton' and that she knew Carlton had no interest in her – and she had no interest in him? She managed a surprised smile and an "Oh, that's so nice of you! Thank you!" nonetheless. Her thoughts circled around another problem. _Mom, I met someone, who is really charming and cultivated; he just needs our help for the moment – No, her mother would think she was fallen prey to a con artist or other imposter out for her money! This wouldn't work… What about the truth? Meaning I have to admit I was down in the sewer again, and after that mother won't listen to anything! … Mom, do you remember the feature about this Nobel-Prize winner and his research?..._

The expensive glass bowl Claire had carried shattered on the ground.

"Heavens, Darling! What's wrong with you today? It's the second thing you smashed! You didn't drink anything or take any drugs yesterday with Jenna, did you?"

"No, I assure you. I'm just a little tired, it's nothing!" _I will never be able to tell her; I can't find a start! _

While Susanna the housekeeper arrived to clean the floor from the shards, Claire went out into the garden for new flowers. She needed to be alone; if possible she would've enclosed herself in her room! Or better, gone back into the underground and see if Peyton was alright. _I should not have left him there alone in the first place! I should have called help; a doctor, or the police or preferably both! _Her thoughts wandered further and she had forgotten the flowers. Maybe she should just call someone at the University, at the Medical Department; someone from the staff of Professor Varinapam? Just to test the area a bit. She did not know for sure, who was responsible for the attack on Westlake 10 years ago. He had talked as if it had been initiated by organized crime, and then again it had sounded like an act of revenge… He had been elusive… and she had to be careful with information concerning him in any case.

…

Another two hours of torturing small talk with her mother and birthday preparations went by, and then Claire was finally alone in her room. As decided, she searched a phone number from Varinapam's staff, then gathered her courage and called a certain Dr. Reinitzer….

"Hello… my name is Ellen Parker," she lied and hoped to sound unsuspicious. "I'm writing an article for my college newspaper. About modern medicine and prosthetics and help for accident victims. Do you have 15 minutes for me, Doctor?"

"Yes, sure. Just ask." His accent was horrible, but at least he had not hushed her away! She let him explain the aims and work flow and talk extensively about the funding problems, until she thought the time right to ask: "Will the project continue, now that Professor Varinapam died? Do you have any successor yet?"

"Sadly, we have none in our staff who could manage the working load Ravi put on himself. And he was quite reclusive, almost a solitaire. Anyone who takes over will have a rough time only in assorting all papers, I suppose…" He cleared his throat. "Well, he was a genius! The Dean will advise with the deputies from the department tomorrow. I can't say anything more specific, I'm sorry Miss Parker. But if we are lucky, we'll get a scientist from Switzerland to take the lead. If the funding is not cut."

_Aw! The one able to bring forward this project is right here in New York! _ "Aha… Uhm… Dr. Reinitzer, somewhere I read something about a certain Dr. Westlake?" She played dumb schoolgirl.

"Oh, yes. Peyton Westlake. We worked together as assistants. Was a sort of workaholic, but nice. Unfortunately he died some years ago in an awful incident. – It's sounding like a conspiracy theory! Every time our team reaches a breakthrough point, the team leader dies… Well, of course, this is non-scientific nonsense, Miss Parker."

"Is it your opinion that Westlake would have been able to continue the research?"

"Maybe. But it is superfluous talking about the possibility, because he is dead."

"Of course… Thank you, Dr. Reinitzer! I think I have enough material to write my article now."

She hung up and lay back on the bed. _I HAVE to get Peyton out of this underground hideout and BACK to the university! _

…

The hysteric cry of her mother let Claire jump up. She ran out, down the stairs, and found her standing next to the phone, trembling and in tears of shock.

"Mom, what's going on?"

"They… they have kidnapped Frank… oh my God, what shall I do?" Anna Deveraux clutched her hands around the armchair. "What shall I do?!"

"Dad? Kidnapped Dad?" Claire repeated. "Who, Mom?"

"Don't know… some…terrorists… They want the schematics for this new… I don't know! Of whatever he just worked on, he did not tell me in detail! They want the schematics and 2 million Dollars or they'll KILL HIM!" She fumbled after tranquillizers in the side board.

Claire still could not believe this. "Maybe… it is some kind of bad joke? Did you call the police?"

"No, they warned me if I do so, they'll do some nasty things with Frank… O my God…"

Before Claire could answer, a beeping sound from the adjacent room pierced the air. Frank Deveraux' Email-Notification.

"Shut this thing off!" Anna shouted and swallowed some pills.

Claire ran into the working room of her father, something she had done not very often, because he preferred to stay alone there. The letter symbol blinked on the screen, in unison with the alarm sound. When the young woman touched the mouse for deactivating the notification, the mail opened – and a video sequence filled the screen. Even before she could discern anything or think anything, the slightly blurred voice of her father sounded from the speakers.

In an instant, Anna Deveraux was besides her daughter and stared at the video. Now they saw some people emerging from the grey-black background, clad half in military wear and with black masks in front of the faces. Two of them held Frank Deveraux, bleeding from a wound at his head. No, they did not seem to be from the patient sort…. The panic of her mother began to grab Claire as well. The phone rang again. Claire took the call, because her mother did not move. "It's them… They said … said they have sent an Email to Dad's account, and … it's all. They've quit the line!"

'…Look very careful, Mrs. Deveraux!' the order from the video sounded chilly through the room. 'You see we're not in a playful mood…' another blow hit the prisoner. Then the kidnapper opened a door and shoved Frank Deveraux inside a small room. 'Await our instructions! And I repeat, do NOT involve the police or any other officials!'

Claire frowned. She had seen these kinds of doors and vaults! These people had to be down in the underground tunnels somewhere! "Stop!" she whispered and hit the "halt"-button herself, only to rewind and repeat in slow motion.

"What are you doing?" her mother asked exhausted.

"I have… I think I have seen something…"

"What in hell could you see, except the barbaric behavior of these… these CRIMINALS!"

She did not answer. She needed all her effort to pull herself together, to concentrate. Yes… there it was; she had not been mistaken! Shortly a worn out number over the door appeared. 42. "I know someone who could help, Mom!" Claire said, and speaking this, the idea gained strength. "I know someone who could find the place where they hold Dad prisoner! Then the police could –"

"What are you talking about? Don't make me crazy, Claire! – Wait! Where do you think you go?!"

"I told you, I get help!" She was already out of the door.

"Claire? Darling, don't do anything stupid! Claire! You can't go and leave me here alone! Claire!!!"

"I call you, Mom! Trust me!"

**===In the underground ===**

Westlake caught himself pleading and arguing against his own mind, to find an excuse to see Claire again. A last time, only once. Hold her one last time, out in the open, in the Park perhaps, amongst the falling snow – just as any normal man. What could be wrong, what could GO wrong? His heart was begging and undermining his determination to leave like a river a stone barrier. A last time, then it would be over forever. He promised this to the shadowy silhouette of his rationality. One last favor, he begged. Please…

Still he had one of his artificial skins in storage, just enough for this last tiny escape. More was not possible anyway, because he had destroyed his equipment.

In the afternoon he was ready to go. He closed his coat, took a last view of the flawless, handsome face shown in the shards of the mirror and smiled. A Good-bye-smile to himself. But he would stall the inevitable for another 120 minutes! 120! He had to hurry and find Claire! Westlake had reached his railway truck, when the alarm went on. He cursed. He had no time for that now! However – it didn't matter anymore anyway. Nothing was left here worth anything, only destruction. He shut the alarm system down and went back to the truck. He had just started the engine, when Claire's figure showed up at the end of the tunnel. She was running, and one glance was enough to discern something was wrong.

Westlake left the truck, walked towards her, faster the closer he get. Finally, he was running, too. Claire fell into his arms. "Some terrorists have captured my Dad! They brought him down here; I recognized the surroundings and a number above a door! They threaten to kill him! Peyton, you must help me! Please, you must help me!"

The words struck him. "I'm sorry… I cannot help you. Not anymore." He cursed the past days and his rage of destruction.

The young woman looked up to him. "I don't understand… You know this place like no one else does…I…I thought…" Now she cried despite all her efforts.

Westlake felt as if he had stabbed her in the back personally. What a wonderful last Good-bye indeed! He held her tightly. Of course she could not understand. She might have seen his distorted face, but he had hidden his distorted heart… However, hiding had lost its meaning. Perhaps it might even be the best way Claire knew the complete truth, before they parted forever.

"The Liquid-Skin-formula… I could use it not only to re-create my own face, but the features of others as well, if I possessed sufficient visual data to feed into the computer. It was nearly perfect… only not durable. I infiltrated the organization responsible for my condition and destroyed it from within. And similar ones, which ruined other people's life: drug and weapon's dealers… I let them pay and took their money for my research."

"You … killed them?" Claire's incredulous whisper.

"Yes, if there was no other choice. And I would do it again now to help you and free your father, but I can't! I have no functioning equipment to do this… I'm sorry…"

Claire freed herself and made one step back. He had thought she would run away; to his surprise she stayed. "I did not want you to kill anyone. I came here to ask if you could help me FINDING my Dad so we could inform the police and they could go in before these terrorists know anything!"


	8. Battle in the Dark

"_Black tears are running down your face  
But I will hold you in my arms" (Blutengel, Song "Behind your mask")_

**=== New York Underground ===**

_So, this must be the feeling if you cut yourself the rope holding you back from falling into the depth…_Peyton mused, and when Claire asked again if he would help her, he had only the strength for a silent nod. The last 120 minutes he had thought bargaining from destiny would be hell itself, now that she knew everything. She would part from him with disgust and pity for the poor mislead creature – and no other feeling would remain. Not a single spark of light to remember…

"The kidnappers mailed us a video", Claire had continued. "I recognized the area. It was down here. And I saw a number, painted above a metal door. 42. Nearby there was a grafitto that looked like some sort of ape with a machine gun."

Westlake tried to focus. "This could be… yes… the passage between lines 2 and 6." He hurried back into the chaos that once had been his lab and began digging through the junk. A little later he had found for what he was looking: the detailed plans of the subway lines, including service tunnels and electricity shafts. He unfolded one after another, until his fingers rested on one particular spot, marked with a fat "42".

"Here it is!" _And I've seen some suspects there during the last weeks, dammit! I wish I had acted then!_

Claire bowed over the plan. "I'll inform the police!"

"No! Your father would be dead before they could reach him. I know such police operations. They make far too much display of force; upsetting the criminals even more and give them too much time to freak out and kill someone. No. I will go."

"What do you think? These guys are ARMED!" Claire had come down here worrying about her father, but at the moment she was full of fear for the man standing next to her. "If this is about killing yourself, I… I won't let that happen!"

"I thought you wanted to free your father." He withdrew behind the hastily erected barricade in his mind, not wanting to let come yet closer what already was too close.

"I want! But not if you risk your life that way, in a suicide attack!"

"It's the only reasonable way, believe me. The risk for me will not be that big. I'm stronger than normal men, due to the treatment they gave me in the hospital after my accident. And Jerky will be at their throats before they can fire one shot. I will have the surprise on my side and therefore the opportunity to free your father." He stared at the map again.

"Your life, your knowledge, is too precious! Don't you understand? People need you! You have to go back to the university!"

"No", he answered sharper than intended and turned away to find something suitable as a makeshift weapon. Contrary to his statement shortly before, he did not feel very strong. He had not fully recovered from the electric shock three days ago.

"But think how many people you can heal if you complete professor Varinapam's research!"

"I don't care!" The lie tasted even more bitter spoken to her. He loosened an iron strut from one of his destroyed devices. This would do it – enough to get a man off his feet!

"You run away!" Claire stood next to him again, and when he turned around, he discovered a fire of fierce desperation burn in her eyes.

"You don't understand. I can't go back! I can't simply start there where I had to stop 10 years ago!"

"So for what have you working on this formula? Only to have a nice way to infiltrate some gangs and kill people?"

Westlake froze in his act. He was trapped. Silence fell; even the cats and Jerky did not move but only stared at their master. The man clutched onto the metal rod in his hands as if this was the only mean to keep him upright.

"I'm sorry…" Claire whispered. "I didn't want to say that…I'm only that…worried about Dad…I'm afraid."

"We will get him free," Westlake finally said and went past her, ending the discussion by that way. "First I will lure them out to check their number and the situation… Jerky, come on! – Then I'll attack. You will wait nearby and try to get your father to the truck, if he is able to go. I show you how to operate it." He halted in front of the storage unit and carefully peeled the artificial skin from his skull. His true face would give him an extra advantage against the kidnappers… The sinister thought smouldered inside him, and the pain vented out in a sarcastic "And you think I should return like this?" in Claire's direction.

She looked to the ground and hid her tears.

**=== In the meantime / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Anna Deveraux was at the end of her strength. The man who was the obvious leader of the kidnappers had called once again and given her specific instructions how to get the harddrive from Frank's computer and the other stuff they wanted. Not able to hold a screw driver or anything else, she had simply broken the case of the machine and cut the wires with a cisel. Now she crouched on the floor, trembling and crying, with the worst scenarios in her head, when the phone rang again.

Them again!

"Yes? What ELSE do you WANT?" she cried hysterically.

"Don't panic, Ma'am", the guy at the other end said in his broad dialect, as if he was a good uncle from the neighborhood. "No need for that if you do as we say. And you're very reasonable, aren't you? Yeeeaaah. You didn't call the police…"

"NO! I told you! I called no one! I have this computer thing you want! What about my husband? I want to speak to him!"

"Aw… he's a lil' out of business at the moment, Ma'am… He wasn't as cooperative as you are…"

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HIM?"

"Shsh… don't panic… as I said… You remember there was another thing I badly need… a small donation…"

"But I shouldn't talk to someone! If you want money I have to talk to my bank!"

"I'm sure you can manage this…"

Anna Deveraux heard her husband moaning in the background and felt sick. God, what did these terrorists do to him? Where was the so-called Homeland-Defense, when every damned criminal could do such things right here in New York?

"Mrs. Deveraux? You can manage this, do you?"

"Yes… yes…"

"So don't keep us waiting any longer. Some of my men are al lil' impatient… Be at the designed place in two hours!"

"But… but I can't! I can't make it in two hours!"

"Wouldn't it be a pity if your nice Frankie-boy would loose one of his ears?" He hung up.

**=== In the Underground / Serviceroom 42 ===**

"What if this fuckin' chick freaks out?" One of the men asked, when the telephon slipped back into the grip on the wall.

"She won't call the cops. She has far too much fear for her sweet darling here…" A casual blow hit Frank Deveraux.

"Do you think you get very far with this?" The prisoner murmured nonetheless. "The files are encrypted! And you won't leave this country without getting caught!"

"Hehe, smartass are we!" The fist landed in Deveraux' stomach and he nearly fell backwards with the chair. "We have your brain to dig the decryption out, right? And forget the police and National Guard – they are idiots! You shouldn't trust in them!" He reached out again for a strike. However one of the other man held him back. "Stop. If you beat him unconsious, he won't talk or he will make a shit of mistakes in the decryption!"

"Yeah. Right. Still time to ice him after done business… what's this fucking noise outside? Joz, go and have a look!"

The man standing next to the door grabbed his machine gun, disengaged the lock and kicked the door open. Some meters away, he discerned a large figure, obviously very shaky on his legs, and smelling after cheap booze. "Only one of these drunken rats!" The armed man shouted back to his comrades inside, before turning his attention back to the hobo. "Ey, man, piss off!" He waved his gun, but didn't dare shooting. The boss had forbidden it if not in absolute necessity. The sound would draw certainly too much unwanted attention down here. "Piss off!" The rag-bundle stumbled down into the mud only a meter away. "Fucking hell! Just –"

The light from inside fell on the hobo's face, a sight letting the kidnapper step backwards with a frantic roar. Then he fired his gun into this 'Nightmare on Elm's Street….

At least, he tried it, but only hit the vault above, because a metal rod smashed into his legs and let his knees buckle. The next second, a pitbull jumped against him. Chaos broke out. More shots, cries, curses.

…

Claire cowered in the darkness besides the railway truck and followed the events full of anxiety. Still she thought it would have been better to inform the police and let them handle the situation. With every second she regretted more not to have done so. _If they die both, it will be my fault…_She saw another one of the kidnappers go down; it seemed to be at least four of them. Somewhere Jerky barked and growled. But the moment of surprise was gone now, and the man was on his feet far too fast, got a hold on Westlake and threw him down. The iron strut slid from his hands against one of the computers. Sparks flew and then it was nearly completely dark. But out of the darkness still came the sounds of a reckless hand-to-hand-combat, and then again shots. Claire bit her lip. Her heart hammered. Peyton had ordered her to wait here for his sign; she could not sit here for much longer though! And where was her Dad? Perhaps she had been mistaken with the number… or he had been brought to another place… and everything was in vain!

Some eerie cracking metallic sound echoed through the underground. Then a flashlight was switched on; the light flitted over the scenery. Claire discerned someone crawling alongside the overthrown table and some equipment. Dad? The young woman was not sure. However, the next moment a guy with a gun in his hand grabbed the fugitive, yelling something to his comrades. Now she could clearly recognize the features of her father.

_This goes wrong… this goes totally wrong! _Without another thought, the young woman searched for her cellphone, and dialed 911.

Something wet and warm touched her left hand. Jerky. At least the dog seemed unharmed! She padded his muscular shoulders. Another scratching metallic sound, then shattering glass, a series of shots and human cries. Claire barely dared to look into the direction of the service room. Instinctively, her fingers closed around Jerkys collar. _O God, please, don't let them be dead…_ She turned towards the last clanking sound and discovered the flashlight lying on the stone floor, still switched on. A body lay stretched out in the yellow lightcone; she could not say if dead or just injured. But a little further, she discovered her father, trying to get up with still shackled hands and legs.

"Dad!" she cried and forgot the order to stay put near the truck. The dog went ahead barking.

"Dad!"

Frank Deveraux did not trust his eyes. "Claire? What the hell are YOU doing down here?"

"I explain later…" She wiped away the suddenly bursting tears. "Are you… are you okay, Dad?" Seeing the destruction around and the blood on her fathers face and clothes, she felt dizzy. Her stomach moved upwards and hastily she reached out for the wall. And where was Peyton?

"I've already felt better," answered her father. "What a nightmare… " He coughed, looked around and shook his head. "You did call the police? Don't know if these bastards have still some reinforcements somewhere… Claire?" Frank Deveraux watched his daughter, which from one second to another not only looked exhausted and pale, but frightened to death. Her tears ran dry; she was too terrified to even cry. Thinking she might have seen one of the enemies behind him with a gun pointed at them he tried to push her out of the way, but could not reach her.

Claire was already two steps deeper in the gloom and now fell to her knees besides one of the figures on the ground. "Peyton? … O my God…" She stared at him and the blood glinting in a rusty red. This was worse than last time she found him… much worse! She tried to check his pulse, but was too nervous to get anything. Her father said something, however it did not get through, it rested some strange noise at the border of her consciense. "Peyton?" She was hardly able to move her hands and open his coat, then his shirt. More blood… And a faint moan – or was she mistaken? Her own blood seemed to roar like thunder in her head. "You can't die! Do you hear me? You can't die!" _Where is the police and some medics? Where, damned shit?_ She was afraid like never before in her life. He lay before her and died, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing she could do about it…


	9. Tears for Fears

(Ok, I warn you it gets a little soapy and heartbreaking… keep your Kleenex within reach!)

**=== Two days later / A private hospital in Bay Ridge ===**

Senator Beckman, a middle –aged man with wrinkles of concern in his face, had taken place in the hospital room shortly ago. In the presence of a journalist, he had exchanged some words with the patient occupying the room, Frank Deveraux. Then he asked the press to leave and give them a little privacy.

"Frank, this was very close," Beckman repeated when they were alone. "I told you how often exactly to get a bodyguard? Your work is too important for national security! We can only thank God this homeless stepped in this time. Next time you won't be that lucky, perhaps! – How is the man, by the way?"

"Still in intensive care. The medics said one cannot be sure if he ever wakes up. He was hit pretty badly."

"Poor guy. Heard the President say something about a decoration, though." The Senator looked out of the window. Surely his chauffeur was waiting, but he did not want to be chased by his schedule today. Frank was an old friend! "I understood he had been a scientist before he landed on the streets?"

"Yes, as far as I know. - The three surviving criminals are on their way to Guantanamo, the police officer told me this morning, right?"

"Yes. We have to get their connections out of them."

Some minutes passed in silence, and then the Senator continued: "How is your wife?"

"Better. She is at home now, but still under sedation and observance by a psychologist. This was really difficult for her. You know her; how fragile and sensitive she is."

"Nonetheless, she did remarkably well! Brave woman, same as your daughter! I hope I'll see you all for a nice dinner evening soon."

"Of course, thank you, Jacob. But for now I can't promise anything."

"Tell Anna she must be strong, an example for the wives and mothers of our soldiers fighting terrorism outside our country!"

"Please, no election speeches right now, Jacob…" Frank Deveraux felt not up to that. He was worried about his daughter. She seemed …. obsessed… about the mysterious rescuer, about whom she obviously knew far more than the rest of the world. The prospect his 'little girl' had hidden something from him was not very comforting.

Senator Beckman sighed. "Forgive me. Old habit… Just give Anna and Claire my regards and best wishes!"

"I will."

….

In another ward of the hospital, Claire stood at the front desk of the reception. "Why can't I see him? Just for some moments?"

"My colleague already told you half an hour ago and many times before, Miss Deveraux," The answer sounded obviously annoyed. "The patient is in intensive care priority one, and after the regulations no one except medical staff is allowed to see him."

"But you COULD run me through the same cleaning procedures as the medical staff! Please!"

"No, I can't. These are the regulations. I don't want to loose my job." However, the nurse felt sorry for the young woman who in all her exhaustion and desperation was nearing a nervous breakdown. She was here for two days now and barely moved away from the visitor's bench. She had slept some minutes sitting here, but that was all. "Miss Deveraux, please, sit down. This helps no one. We can give you something to relax, if you wish."

"I do not! I …" Claire sighed, ran a shaky hand through her hair. "Please, let me see him! I… pay you! I'll make a donation to the hospital!"

…"Claire."

She startled and spun around. Her father was behind her and now put a hand on her arm. "Claire-darling. Come home with me. You need some rest."

"I want to visit Peyton! Why does no one understand? Shit! Do I speak Chinese?"

"Claire, calm down. You can't see him. And he wouldn't notice if you did, anyway. He is in a coma and does neither see nor hear you."

"I just want to help… somehow…" she answered sobbing and searched for a paper tissue.

"He has all the help he needs. The medics here are among the best of our country. You can be sure they'll do everything they can to help him. And if he doesn't make it despite all their efforts – "

"NO!"

"Claire… listen to me, I know it is hard. But… maybe it is better for him, if he does not survive. Have you ever –"

She pushed her father back with a violent gesture. "Dad, how can you even THINK such a thing?" The outburst had drawn every last attention to them. Suddenly, it was very quiet around the front desk and the next floor. "Sorry… Dad…"

"Come home with me, Claire. Please. Your mother needs you, too. If you want to help, help her."

"Mom has you and all her friends to comfort her. Peyton has no one except me." The young woman assembled her last strength to communicate the decision she just had made in her mind. "I'll stay!"

"You cannot stay here. You know that. Please don't make it more difficult for all of us, darling. You come home with me, and the hospital can call you if anything changes."

Claire hesitated. Then she said: "Okay." She breathed deeply. "I cannot stay here, right. I go… into the hotel on the other side of the road. And you will call me immediately if something happens?"

"We will, Miss Deveraux." The nurse was happy to see a solution within range. "Mr. Westlake is in best care, as your father said. We will call you. You can go over and sleep some hours. We call you, I promise."

**=== In the hotel ===**

Claire took a room as planned. Barely in it, she had gone over to the window, from where she could see the hospital. Staring out in the early morning and the dimming street lights with burning eyes, she truly realized how much Peyton Westlake meant to her. It was not about walking around with a gorgeous looking guy to impress her girlfriends and Jenna in particular; not about this wonderful smile which let her melt and forget everything. No, this was only a superficial decoration… It was about HIM alone; about the man inside the unimportant shell, behind the mask, behind the darkness… Claire felt the butterflies inside her battering their wings again, and pulling, not like some funny fluffy little things, but more like an army of angels. Strong, warm and full of light. There was no pondering anymore how she should tell her family, if she should tell Jenna. She would just tell it and to hell with the opinion of them. She did not care. If only Peyton survived.

Her eyelids fell...

…

She awoke some hours later, with aching neck and back, having slept in an awkward position on the chair. Which time was it? It was full day, no doubt. _What if I missed a call from the hospital? O my God! _She ran into the bathroom, provided herself with a 5-minutes-care and was out of the room, not even bothering with closing the door behind her. She did not wait for the elevator, but ran down the stairs.

**=== In the hospital ===**

Out of breath Claire arrived at the ward and stumbled across a briefing between two docs and the nurse at the front desk. She recognized one of them as the head physician. His look was tired and grave. The young woman stopped in her tracks, afraid of what she might hear any second. She wanted to run, but could not.

"Miss Deveraux…" The nurse had discovered her.

"Did you… call me?" she managed. The nurse denied, however Claire was all but relieved. "Is… is he…" she felt as if she would choke.

"I want to be honest with you, Miss Deveraux," one of the medics now said. "It looks not good. "

Claire understood this meant 'it looks very bad', even before he continued: "We nearly lost him last night, and the life signs are still very unstable. I'm afraid, we cannot –"

Claire ran past him and pushed open the door to the ward's floor. The next moment, two hands grabbed her shoulders. "Miss! Miss, if you go in like this, you'll kill him with a high probability!"

She nodded and let herself guide to an adjacent room, where the medical staff normally changed cloths. Somewhat later, she finally sat besides Peyton's bed. He was nearly unrecognizable with the attached respirator and more cables and wires leading to various machines. The equipment made low beeping sounds. It was the only thing reminding Claire, he was still alive. Gently, she caressed his face, where she could reach it. She did not even notice the mutilations anymore. It was the face of the man she loved. For her it was beautiful. He did not react in any way. Claire leaned back, took his hand and began to talk. That she had Jerky and the cats in her custody at home, first, and then all other things crossing her mind. Wasn't it said, talking helped comatose people to find their way back? She did not know. But as long as she spoke, she did not hear the creepy sound of the machines and she could imagine being in another place with him. On a beach perhaps… under a palm tree…

On some point she was that tired that she half fell asleep, humming the melody she had taken when dancing with him in the Old City Hall Station.

…

Peyton Westlake discerned the faint, soft sound at the edge of his consciousness. He felt the warmth of a hand holding him. It was a comforting, wonderful sensation, filled with contentment and peace. It made him wish to see who was providing this… He attempted to speak, and the effort to manage this despite the respirator let him regain consciousness. Discovering his surroundings, panic followed. A hospital room – o no! And he could not move – again! What did they do to him this time? And WHO? He tried to lift his head – not possible, too. No, this could not be!

In his frantic attempt to get free he woke Claire.

"It's okay, it's okay…" she whispered, seeing the fear in his eyes. "You are in a hospital in Bay Ridge… " She couldn't stop the tears of exhaustion and joy and hastily wiped over her face. "Everything will be fine… You've been shot, remember? And… I… thought you wouldn't make it…. O God… I say such silly things… I'm sorry! I'm only that glad you woke up again… " She felt like embracing him, but this was impossible at the moment. All she could do was squeezing his hand.

_Claire, _he thought, with a considerable effort trying to put his mind in order, but failed. The words he wanted to speak vanished before they could reach his mouth. He felt too weak for keeping his eyes open any longer. But his fear was gone. If she was here, the place had to be okay. He trusted her. And the sound… the music… When he drifted away in a dream again, he danced with Claire through the Old City Hall Station, and then on the streets, as if they were the only people on earth. And in his dream at least, he was the happiest man on earth.

**=== Some days later / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Anna Deveraux still looked pale and tired, with dark rings under her eyes. She had not been much out of the house the past days. And her worries about her daughter did not make it any easier for her to go back to normal. She let a tranquillizer fall into a glass with water and said in the direction of her husband: "Claire practically LIVES in the hospital, Frank. We have to do something. This is not good for her. She does not know what she is doing. She is… is acting weird since the incident in the subway! She has to get away from all this!"

"Yes, I know. I tried to speak with her. She won't listen – and in fact, I can't order her anything; she is full age." He put the newspaper he was reading down, couldn't find enough concentration. As hard as he tried, it would take a while for him too, to get back to his normal life and the work on the project. A vacation would be great, indeed. However, the missile guiding system was not yet completed; he could not simply go on holiday. His sense of duty did not allow that. And yes… Claire…

"She thinks she loves him, Anna. It's what she told me yesterday."

"Love! This is simply… I don't know what to say… She is a sensible child and feels somewhat responsible, that's what it is. Of course she cannot see this now…we have to help her out of this, for her own good! And what about this man… I constantly forget his name!"

"Westlake." Frank stood up and went to the house bar. He needed something stronger than herbal tea right now!

"Does he encourage her in any way? He must know we are rich…"

"Don't know."

"Heavens! She is a little girl! She is… she is … our little baby! She CAN'T love this… this…" Anna Deveraux ended with a sigh, not daring to speak out what she really thought, because this man had rescued her husband's life; and not finding any suitable, sugar coated expression to use instead. "I mean… we don't know anything about this man! He lived down in the underground of New York for – how long?"

"Ten years, Claire said." Frank Deveraux emptied a glass of Bourbon.

"Ten years! He can't have kept a sane state of mind in living in these catacombs; that's simply not possible. Whatever a great scientific mind or else he was before – what is he now? This is what counts when I think of my poor little girl. And how old is he, by the way? I don't want Claire ending in poverty or mistreated by some madman, who looks like –" Anna stopped considering this inappropriate to say and drank something instead. "I don't want Claire rushing into some crazy decisions she will regret the rest of her life," she continued after a while.


	10. Last Resorts

_When I touched your skin for the first time, I felt heaven in my hands  
So I try to close my eyes. And I'm dreaming me away. (BLUTENGEL, Song "In my dreams")_

**=== Bay Ridge / Hospital ===**

Over a week had passed since Westlake woke up first, grasped by the panic to be in the hands of some 'scientists' eager to experiment on him again. Meanwhile his fears had settled for a big part. These medics were actually here to help him… He felt much better already. For 4 days now, he was out of intensive care. The additional strength supported a better healing process, it seemed. He had already wondered about this side effect 8 years ago after he had ripped the controlling device out of his neck.

Moreover… hope had sneaked in again, like a thief, unnoticed first and only detected when it was too late to overwhelm him. First, Peyton had struggled against the various alluring possibilities, the prospects suddenly enfolding and being within reach again. He had fought against them like a thirsty man in the desert against visions of shade and water. However the thirst had been greater than all rationality. He did not want to let go of the vision. He could not. Hope was like a drug. Once tasted, it made addicted.

Things had happened, which only rooted deeper the hope in his mind. One day, the door had opened and one of his old colleagues showed up. Hendrik Reinitzer acted as if only some days separated them from the time as assistants in the Medical Department. When he left, Peyton had asked for some summaries from Varinapam's publications. Meanwhile he felt well enough again to read some pages of them. Still it was too straining to concentrate longer than half an hour consecutively, but it was getting better every day.

Hope to resume his work soon! Hope to finally find the right formula!

And then, there was Claire. She made it somehow believable his hopes could be fulfilled. Her presence made him really forget who he was; not only some seconds, but all the time she was in this room. He fought against this feeling like against the growing hope. In the quiet hours, when Claire had left, the fear to loose everything again was a dark agonizing cloud hovering over him. He did not want these feeling, because to feel also meant the possibility for disappointment and pain. However, his heart clearly did not listen to these rational computations.

…

Claire was sitting next to him and talked about the latest adventures of the cats and Jerky, and her mother's worries about these 'flea bags' – even after an additional cleaning process at the veterinary!

Peyton reached out and let his fingers slide through her hair and over her cheek. It felt wonderful; as he had imagined the moment he danced with her in the Old City Hall Station. No… it was a far more beautiful sensation! He was not certain if it was the same when he had touched Julie long ago. It seemed… different, and probably not only because of his still rudimentary ability to sense anything. Perhaps it was… just her. Or the fact that he had lived deprived of this sort of contact for so long.

Claire smiled and took his hand. They looked into each others eyes. There were moments like this one, when reality pierced him with all its force again and threw him down. He wanted to embrace and kiss her (and if he was honest to himself, he wanted much more than this alone) but for now this all was out of question.

"Claire… I don't know, how long it'll take… It could take 'onths… and i' there are sudden di'iculties… it could take years."

"So I will wait with you and help you through", she answered. "I mean, I won't be a crack in Medicine or Bioengineering, but – I can prepare you the best morning coffee ever! For instance…"

_I love her, _he thought, _I love her and I want her, and I really go mad…_

**=== Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

Claire sat on the couch in the living room and felt like on trial.

"I have to talk to you," her mother had said, looking still deranged and nervous. And the young woman had chosen to listen in order to not upset her further. Nonetheless, the communication was nearing a dispute…

"Claire-darling, I know this man has rescued you and your father. Of course Frank and I are very, very, grateful about that. It was a great gesture-"

"A great GESTURE, Mom? He risked his life for persons he did not even know! He nearly DIED!"

"You understand what I'm trying to say. It was a brave action, and for that he deserves our gratitude. Be assured, we will recompense him adequately, with anything he requests. A place to live, a monthly check, anything." Anna Deveraux stopped pacing through the room and rested in front of her daughter. "I know you feel responsible for what happened to this poor man –"

"His name is Peyton!" Claire was getting angry. Her mother still talked about him as if he was a nameless hobo not worth remembering, only worth to let a buck fall into pleading hands and then walk by.

Anna Deveraux repeated: "I know it is difficult for you, Claire-darling. But you ARE not responsible for his condition. He gets all necessary treatment in the hospital. In fact, we sponsor the hospital; you are surely informed of that. It is of no use visiting him daily! On the contrary, this could disturb the medical procedures. Claire, you have done more than enough, and it is time to occupy with other important things, as your studies!"

Her studies didn't interest her the slightest at the moment. "Mom, I do not visit him, because I feel guilty! I LOVE HIM!" It was good to say it aloud in her presence. She was in the mood now, and would have liked to continue with words like 'I go with him to the end of the world and raise a family and I don't want your help!'

But the shocked expression of her mother let the words stuck in her throat. Anna Deveraux was as pale as the designer couch. To hear this from Claire herself was nearly too much to handle. "Claire…you act impulsive and irrationally. I only want the best for you… please, understand."

"Mom. I appreciate your concerns. But I KNOW what I'm doing. I'm no baby anymore!"

"You're acting upset and weird since your incident in the Subway; since you first crossed the path of this man! Claire, find back to your senses! Perhaps it would be good if you go on a little vacation, to forget everything. Perhaps to Aunt Louise in Toulouse…"

"I won't go anywhere!" She jumped to her feet.

"Claire, what I mean is: you don't know this man!"

"Why can't you say his name? Is something wrong with it?"

"Please… don't raise your voice like that. I have such a headache…." Anna Deveraux sighed. "The medics at the hospital made some tests with him. He suffers from a major neurological imbalance. Dr. Coley judged him mentally highly unstable. Now you understand, why-"

"You let them do experiments on him?" Claire shouted now. She didn't care about her mother's headache or the housekeeper in the kitchen.

"Claire! Heavens! Don't you see you are not yourself? No one did torture this man. Only some simple, harmless tests performed on many patients with neurological trauma or something similar!"

"You let them make tests on him BEHIND MY BACK! I told you what he is gone through, and you ordered this!" The young woman ran out of the room, without giving any attention to her mother anymore. Tears of anger and disappointment burned in her eyes, while she hastily searched for her passport, her credit card, and some clothing. She threw everything in her backpack and shortly after she was on the staircase again.

"Claire? Claire-darling? What are you doing?"

She was out of the door.

**=== At the hospital ===**

Westlake still felt slightly disoriented, when Claire came to visit him, one hour earlier than usually allowed. She had made quite a scene outside at the front desk, until the nurse decided it would be the best just let her through, than to cause trouble in the whole ward.

"Claire…?" He squeezed his eyes. "They did so'thing to 'e…" A nasty doubt was bugging him, if he could still trust her, or if everything had only been a ruse. "They injected me so'thing…"

"It's okay. It was nothing bad. Just a little post-op-check-thing," she said, taking his hand. She felt evil about lying to him; however she did not want to compromise her mother, too. "How do you feel now?"

"Don't know…" He shook his head; tried to get a clear mind and to get rid of the doubts about Claire. "I ha' to get out o' here. Soon. … Ha' to start 'orking…"

"You are not fit enough for work, Peyton, you know that."

"Yes…" _And I have no place to stay… _he thought, _…even if I get the job at the Columbia again, the bureaucracy has to be done before. No one would give me that an important position with just a handshake. I have to be up to this! _With considerable effort, he forced his mind out of the haze. "I ha' to start 'orking, Claire! E'en though I ha' to sit in a 'heelchair!"

"I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, I promise!" she whispered, letting her head rest besides his for a moment. "I can… bring you a laptop, if you feel well enough for that?"

He nodded. He simply HAD to feel well enough! Still the string from hope to reality was a fragile thing. He had to make it a little bit stronger.

But for now, it was too much. He fell asleep and did not notice Claire crying.

The young woman did not know what to do. She had checked in at the hotel next door again and so far denied every call from her mother or father on the celly. Perhaps this was not wise. Perhaps her parents would call the police, and then everything would get worse. She planned to talk to her girlfriend Jenna. But for the moment she only wanted to stay here. If possible, she would've rested at Peyton's bed like a watch dog and take care nothing else happened.

**=== Two days later ===**

The mansion of the Deveraux's at Bay Ridge was again in agitation. "Frank," Anna had just said in leaving the lunch table without eating anything, "she won't listen to me! She answers no calls! It's as if she is in… in a kind of religious sect! You HAVE to do something! I don't want to loose our only child to an unpredictable maniac!"

Frank Deveraux folded his napkin together. He did not like this situation, but considering the state of mind of his family, he decided something had to be done.

…

Peyton was surprised to see Claire's father again. He had visited him once, with a press-team on tail, which was out for a photo of the rescued shaking hands with the rescuer. He knew from Claire, her parents weren't too fond about the 'relationship' between him and their daughter. For that, he was curious what this was all about.

Frank Deveraux had the air of a business man in a hurry who did not want to repeat his important decisions twice. "Mr. Westlake, I hope you're feeling well." His voice betrayed his non-existing interest in this matter.

"Yes. Thank you. Sorry I can't talk good. I'll try."

"Don't worry. It is not important for you to speak. Only to listen to my proposal… my offer, in fact." He cleared his throat. "I know you are eager to go back to your research and if possible get the position of the late Professor Varinapam at the Medical Department. I know it is your goal to complete the work on the liquid skin and make it applicable in day-to-day-hospital treatment. It is certainly known to you the project lacks funding and the Dean is not sure yet if there is enough money to provide without the star of a Nobel Prize – winner like Varinapam. Well… you saved my life. You did a great thing for our country. I'm willing to fund the project and move you at its head, Mr. Westlake…"

Peyton watched the man in front of him. This was an awesome offer, something like a fairy letting rain golden stars in his hands. But… there was a trait in the face and the eyes of Frank Deveraux not suitable to a fairy's gift. A cold and hard shine. He sensed his heart hammering and suddenly felt very vulnerable – vulnerable vis-à-vis his own emotions!

"I'm willing to support your research by any means you need," Deveraux had continued. "Under one condition: you won't come close to my daughter Claire again."

One second a crispy silence lasted in the room, already loaded with the energy ready to burst out. Peyton stared at the man, while his unbelievable 'offer' started filling his mind with anger. _You can't do this to me! You can't! _The next moment he was up and hurled against this man in his black suit with his stone heart – at least he tried it. A blinding pain shot through him, everything was spinning around him and he fell to his knees close to the bed, taking the infusion device with him.

**=== Next Day ===**

Because she had an appointment with one of her professors at the University, Claire came to the hospital only in the afternoon. After the awful discovery not to find Peyton in his usual room, she had been running from one nurse and medic to the other, only to find meagre excuses. What was going on here? Why did no one tell her what had happened? Eventually, she stormed into the office of the head physician and was surprised to get an answer without any resistance.

"I'm sorry, Miss Deveraux , you have to learn it that way," he said, not looking up from his papers until now. "There was an incident and –"

"What? An incident? And… and he is…" Claire felt numbness spreading in her.

"Mr. Westlake attacked your father…"

_My father? What did he want here?_

"…and then a medic who tried to hold him back," continued the head physician. "We had to sedate him and put him into restraints. Unfortunately…and despite our precautions…" He let out a short sigh, "Mr. Westlake escaped. This morning, supposedly. And we don't know where he is."

Claire did not know if she should be relieved or worried. Peyton was alive – but the circumstances were rather sinister. And whereto did he go, in his condition? She tried to put her racing thoughts in at least a little order. She didn't notice the door opening and her mother entering, until Anna Deveraux began to speak.

"Claire-darling…"

"Mom? What … are you doing here?"

"The nurse at the front desk called me when you showed up. She thought you might perhaps need some comfort. After these horrific news…"

Claire did not want her here, but at the moment she had not enough strength to discuss this or simply leave the office. "He can't have left this way… simply left…" she whispered.

"My poor little one, I know how you must feel." Her mother embraced her, but Claire could not return the gesture. All she was was concentrated on Peyton and why he had run away – again! Everything had seemed perfect, just yesterday!

"He can't have left! There is something bad going on, Mom! We must…must find him!"

"Claire-darling, I told you he is unpredictable, mentally unstable. All I ever wanted was spare you a moment like this! Come home with me."

There was something subconscious kicking in. She was too upset right now to let it come forward into her mind, but nevertheless, it rested a warning feeling. Something was wrong.

"I cannot come with you… sorry, Mom. I simply cannot."

"But – Claire!"

"I'm sorry," she repeated and walked out of the door and back into the hotel. She felt too exhausted to decide what to do. She wanted to be alone, that was all.

…

Hours went by, while Claire still tried figuring out what had happened, and why. The things she knew did not fit together. Peyton had attacked her father? But why should he have done this? What did her father want in the hospital anyway? She wondered if she should call him and ask but had the distinct feeling she wouldn't get any answer. Yes, something was wrong… Which reason Peyton could have to attack and then escape? A disturbed mind like her mother said? No, Claire didn't believe that! I know him. _I know him and he would not do this without a cause_, she repeated to herself. _Especially not now, when the job at the University and the finishing of the research are within reach! This Reinitzer-guy had just called yesterday again! And his pets… Jerky and the four cats! He would never go and leave them alone! _The longer the young woman sat at the window in the hotel room, the more she was certain of it. Perhaps they had made more 'tests' with him at the hospital and he had panicked and fled? _I shouldn't have left him alone this day! I should've rescheduled this damned appointment! _

It was nearly midnight, when Claire decided to look for Westlake at the one spot where he possibly would hide: the underground. She felt far less secure this time in walking through the tunnels now, than before, when she had come rescuing her father. Now everything seemed frightening again, and dark. Sometimes she thought to hear a voice in the distance. She called Peyton's name, but never got an answer. She began feeling silly and then she was afraid having lured out some bad people with her calls. However, no one except some rats crossed her way down. And she found Peyton's hiding place exactly as she had seen it the last time. An untouched chaos. Nonetheless, Claire looked in every dark corner. He was not here. This made her worrying even more. Where could he be in his condition? Had someone picked him up and hospitalized elsewhere? Or was he still out there on the streets, in this cold? Should she inform the police? Or rather not?

She climbed into the old subway wagon, where he had his old shelter, and huddled up in a corner, to find some warmth for herself.

**=== Meanwhile / Medical Department of the University ===**

The tall man had walked slowly down the street, from time to time seeking hold on the wall of a house or a fence. A young couple passing him made a comment about drunkards everywhere in the city. The man did not react. Eventually, he entered a doorway and headed towards a couple of still illuminated windows on the far end.

Yes, Hendrik Reinitzer was still a night shifter! And the past weeks even more, with all the papers of Varinapam to assort and prepare for his successor!

The last steps to the illuminated windows were difficult to master. Westlake leaned against the house for several minutes to recover a little, but the ice cold wind seemed to only take his breath. Snow fell. He had certainly not been in shape for a walk. However, the money Claire had left him in the hospital, had not been enough for a taxi ride nearly across New York! He clenched his teeth and stepped on. This was his last chance! He could not give up now!

Shortly after the bell of the laboratory section rang, and Dr. Reinitzer went to the door, silently cursing about who-the-hell was bothering him at 2 AM!

He opened yawning and his brain needed a second to grasp the view in front of him.

"Das kann nicht wahr sein-" in his surprise, he spoke German. He blinked. „Peyton? … Your face…"

"It's the last of my… unstable creations. I wanted to… to speak understandable…" His voice trailed of with the wind.

Realizing his unexpected guest was barely able to stand any longer, Reinitzer reached out, lent a supporting arm and helped him inside. "What are you doing here? Are you mad? You belong into a hospital bed, not out on the street? Do you want to kill yourself?"

"There's not much … left to kill…" Westlake sank on a chair and fought against the weakness. "Take me to Varinapam's computer, please. I did some… some calculations…"

"I'd rather call an ambulance, man! Cannot believe they let you out of the hospital!"

"Listen! Listen, Hendrik! I cannot go back! I need your help! I have to work! Please… don't let me down… this is the last chance … I have!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Let me start to work! I went over my old files… I did some calculations, I KNOW-"

"Peyton," Reinitzer grabbed him at the shoulders, "of course you will start to work here, if we have the okay from the Dean, and the funding! Of course you will, no questions. Calm down, okay? And now I call an ambulance…"

"Please… you know it can be done! I just need Varinapam's original files… the sequencing codes… please, let me work!"

"I can't, you know that. You can't simply walk in here and go on this computer and search through those files! I mean, this is sensitive material, and there are restrictions all around, I can't allow you! I would loose my position and you every hope of getting the job anyway. -Peyton, stop, you can't go in there! It's key-card secured!"

"So give me yours!"

"Don't you understand what I'm saying?" With a hasty move, Reinitzer was at Westlake's side again, who stood next to the glass door to the office, hands put on the wall for support.

"You don't understand… Let me tell you: Mr. Frank Deveraux, the man I rescued from these terrorists, 'offered' me something." He spat the word 'offering'. "He said he would manage I… get the position of Varinapam. And the … funding! If I stayed away from HIS DAUGHTER!" A short moment of silence followed this outburst, and then he added: "I can't betray her that way! But I will never reach results with stable samples WITHOUT Varinapam's files! And without stable samples I will never - … Don't you understand?" He was short before crying, yet alone of exhaustion. "Please let me work… Only some hours… No one has to know…"

"I can't! And you can't either, in your condition. I'm sorry."

Peyton had not enough strength to translate the desperate anger forming in him into outside force. He turned around, faced his ex-colleague one last time, but let the words coming into his mind unsaid. Reinitzer looked down like a reprimanded child. "I'm really sorry, it's just…" He shrugged. "I'm no one here… no one to make a decision…"

Westlake walked past him, holding himself upright with his last strength and went through the door. When Reinitzer realized he was no longer in the room, he sped to the entrance, and looked out, calling. But amidst the dense falling snow, nothing was to see anymore.


	11. Light breaking through

**=== A Salvation Army Shelter ===**

The last thing happening the night before still in Peyton's memory was how he cowered in front of a shop window and watched the artificial skin of his face dissolve and expose the disfigured features behind.

When he regained consciousness, he lay in a shelter of the Salvation Army. It was midday. No one had brought him back to the hospital or had him reported to the police, obviously. So no one was looking for him. As expected, they were glad he was gone and spared them further trouble. Probably Frank Deveraux congratulated himself that his little deal had turned out even better than planned…

It was as he had told Claire once, Peyton thought. The worst demons were hiding inside men. The demons of selfishness, greed and arrogance, which lead their hosts away from the path of human compassion, made them believe they could buy everything with their money, and exonerate themselves from everything. In fact, these people were more wretched than the gang members of Durant he had hunted down ten years ago. These criminals knew they stood outside the society. But men like Frank Deveraux thought themselves good citizens, proper businessmen, patriots. And yet they were ready to kill another man's last hope and this with a nonchalant smile and a shrug.

Peyton closed his hands around the half empty soup cup and leaned back again. That he was able to keep the normal nutrition in his stomach, he took as a good sign. His body had endured the stress he had imposed himself yesterday. The pain in his chest was still nagging, but he considered this a minor issue. If he would suffer from internal bleeding, the pain certainly would be much greater and he would probably have lost consciousness again.

_So all I need is some rest and I can go back to my old live!_

_My old life…_

The bitterness gave way to a new wave of pain, not the one from his wound, but the one deep inside. Claire. Now she was out of reach again, in an undefined distance. Would she worry about him? For sure. He had to contact her… say Good-Bye at least. He loved her far too much to burden her with the man he was now for thinking of any other possibility.

_My old life…_There was no way getting out of the darkness and into the light, to make his cherished dreams a reality.

In musing about this, he let his gaze wander through the room. It was a large hall with old wooden tables and chairs, cushions on some of them. Other homeless sat here eating or sleeping on the spot, some of their bags in the arms like a lover his sweetheart. Old newspapers lay crumbled on the ground; a skinny dog sniffed through them. Peyton thought of Jerky, Smokey and the other cats. Another pain inside him.

Then his eyes were caught by a framed photograph on the wall. It showed two Salvation Army officers and another man, whom they thanked for a donation. 'We thank for the magnanimity which gave us the opportunity to help those in need'.

Westlake stared at the line. Claire's voice sounded through his mind "_You must go back to the University, Peyton! Think of the many people you can help with your research!" _Yes, it was not only about him! Frank Deveraux in his damned arrogance had not only cut HIS lifeline, but the one of many other burn victims, too!

_These people need you… You have to go back…"_

Slowly, an idea formed in his mind. If Deveraux could play mean – yes, he could do the same! He was ready to fight!

**=== New York Underground / Later the day ===**

Peyton had asked one of the Salvation Army officers to give him some bandages for his head, and then to take him along to Grand Central. From there he entered the underground again and headed towards his old refuge - with longer and longer pauses in between. But he managed to walk further, driven by a new-found confidence. With the calculations done after reading some of Varinapam's papers; with the basics for a molecular structure in his mind he was now closer to a solution than all the years before. He needed access to the computer files; to the samples used by Varinapam, the RNA - sequences of the deep sea species! Success was not a vague dream anymore; it had become a realistic option. And he would not allow men like Deveraux to ruin not only his life completely, but also those of thousands of other victims. He would fight!

He had reached his old realm, switched the lights on and gave the destruction a wry smile. _Home sweet home…_

Certainly, it would take some time to get the equipment working again. He needed at least one sample of his creation… With his sleeve, he shoved some of the debris from the desk. Somehow he thought he could control the bursts of anger and violence better. He was not sure why; it was simply the feeling to regain control. He had seen the bottom of the abyss of 'human' arrogance and selfishness – and rage was nothing what could fight this. It only made him like them… Nevertheless, first he had to recover himself!

A little bit shaky, Peyton crawled into his wagon – shelter and stopped when he discovered the figure on the mattress. Claire? Was he hallucinating? "Claire…?"

No, the figure moved quite natural, looked up to him and then embraced him. No hallucination, no dream! " 'hat are you doing here?"

"Searching for you!" She put the blanket around him. "I thought you might come back… but I almost lost hope! What happened? Why did you leave the hospital? You are not well at all…" She was loosening the bandages from his head. "You really must be crazy!"

"Had no other choice…"

Claire listened and began feeling ice cold. "I can't believe Dad did such a thing…" she whispered. No, this was not true. In fact, she could very well imagine her parents doing this. With this realization, the last sympathy for their decisions was gone. Did they KNOW what they had done? Did they POSSIBLY know? Claire held Peyton very close and felt bad only because she was the daughter of such beings. "We will go to another University," she said then. "You can start there anew. I come with you! I don't care, if it takes a bit longer until you are successful, until you get your face back! I don't care at all! As long as you are alive, and I'm with you, it doesn't matter how you look! Do you understand? They can all… all go to hell!" She started crying.

"No. I 'ont 'ait longer than necessary!" He took her hands which she had put around his face. "The research is nearly co'lete. It CAN 'e done! I only need the right equi'ent! I'll go 'u'lic with this, I'll go to a TV station. Tell the' 'hat I could reach, how 'any men I could hel' to lead a normal li'e!" The prospect let his exhaustion fade. "I thank Mr. De'eraux loud and clear 'or his generosity to 'und this 'roject! He 'ont deny his su'ort, Claire, or he'll loose his 'ace in quite another 'ay!"

"I help you," she promised and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Whatever it might take! I even know someone from CNN… a friend of a friend. If he's back from Washington, then…"

"You 'ust go 'ack, Claire. You can't stay here. Your 'arents 'ill initiate a search 'or you; they'll think I kidna'ed you."

"So I call Jenna and let her know where I am. Tell her to inform Mom and Dad." The young woman was that angry and disappointed her parents had taken refuge to such intrigues. She did not want to talk to them herself. Right now she was not sure if she ever wanted to talk to them again! No way would she leave!

He enjoyed resting in her arms. _I've never thought I could feel this again… I've never thought I could have this again… _Suddenly, everything seemed possible.

**=== Two weeks later / Bay Ridge / Claire's home ===**

"… _artificial skin on the base of own tissue, with perfect cellular bonding on molecular scale. For it had been impossible until now to create samples with sufficient UV-resistance outside of lab conditions, this discovery is the most promising fact in this research. I'm sure we will have applicable results within the next year, thanks to the generosity of Mr. Frank Deveraux, who kindly –"_

Anna Deveraux switched the TV off and sighed. "I still cannot believe how this man is able to extort the money and blackmail you, Frank!" she said, turning to her husband. "After all we wanted to do for him so he could live a decent life! It is exactly as my mother said: give a man a hand, and he wants all you have!"

Frank Deveraux did not answer. He was a passionate chess player. He had thought to get Peyton Westlake out of his daughter's life with a simple move. Just wave with a buck in front of a poor man's nose and he'll do everything! However, he had to admit now a total misjudgment of the situation and his 'opponents', including Claire. The stubborn little girl had grown up into a very determined young woman, while he was sitting in his office. A woman who did not need his guidance anymore… when this had happened? He could not imagine; it seemed only yesterday he drove her to first grade school. And this Westlake? Well, if the situation would be another, he would've admired the man for his endurance and determination.

"Frank, what do we do now?"

"What we do?" He went to the house bar - a way he had taken often lately. "I cannot go and shoot him, can I? We have to arrange with the situation. Everything else would be bad publicity. Senator Beckman would freeze his support, and this, I assure you, the President wouldn't find amusing at all!" He filled a glass with Tequila. "This was a very smart move from Westlake. I can only use it to my advantage, or I loose. More than our daughter!"

"But Frank! Our little baby! What if he –"

"It's Claire's decision." Frank Deveraux emptied the glass. "And for now he hasn't done anything of your nightmares. Neither mistreated nor kidnapped her, not even asked her for huge sums of money."

"This sounds as if you give a damn about your daughter in the hands of a… a… a psycho freak!"

The evening ended in dissent.

**=== Medical Department of the "Columbia" ===**

Robert Collins, Dean of the Medical Department, handed out a folder with the appointment papers to the man standing in front of him. "Dr. Westlake, this was a… uhm… hazardous adventure, I may say; calling a press conference without anyone's knowledge here at the Department! You got us funding for the next years, though… if you weren't as brilliant as I know you are…" He left the rest suspended and took Peyton's hand. "Welcome back!"

…

The first weeks became very difficult for Westlake. He was not used anymore to work with other people, despite his wishes all those years to do so again. It frustrated him to repeat again and again what he wanted, because the others didn't understand his speech. And he sensed the uneasiness his colleagues felt in his presence. They tried hiding it, and some did a better job than others. However he could discern they didn't want to express their pity aloud, but couldn't manage to treat him normally, too. Some even felt uncomfortable being alone with him, as if the subject of conversation would suddenly change in a direction they did not want and then there would be no escape. Appointed head of this project or not, he rested a freak at the edge of the normal life. Sometimes he needed all his effort to control threatening outbursts of rage. It went too slow! Why it went that slow? Who had typed in the wrong set of numbers at the sequencer? Who had forgotten to turn off the lights and thus killed the sensitive cultures? Why the new material from New Zealand hadn't arrived yet?

The progress the team made was smaller than expected, even though Peyton worked double shifts himself. On another front he had to arrange with the facts, too. A neurological expert had told him he would never regain complete sensitivity again. It was a rare development that some parts of his spinothalamic tract obviously had 'reconnected' themselves. A 'wonder' happening once in a million. But he couldn't hope for much more. It seemed a part of him would stay the Darkman forever.

Claire had rented an apartment, until he had enough money from advance payments for a small house in New Jersey, where the pets could stay in the little garden. She was wonderful, the greatest gift of all. In the beginning, she had helped him cleaning the mess in the underground, to repair his equipment. She had arranged the press conference in using God knows which contacts. She was there, when he came home late at night; she was always there with her warmth and strength. But the months passed by without the final result he wanted, and he was getting afraid of loosing her. She said she would wait… but how long? And he did not want to wait either. He wanted to really love her, with whole body and soul, not only dream…

He opened the little box with the engagement ring he had bought already weeks ago, and stared at the jewelry again.

"…Don't you want to go home today?"

Peyton looked up and saw Hendrik Reinitzer standing in the door of the office. He had been the one feeling the most discomfort in the beginning and had been ready to quit the project, until the Dean spoke to him. Meanwhile the German scientist had become the closest equivalent to a friend Westlake could have under the circumstances.

"I'm not 'inished yet."

"It's past 2 am, you know, and you are here since 8 am yesterday. You can check the results of the tests if you come back after some hours of sleep."

Westlake stared at the ring again as if the other man was not in the room anymore.

"Peyton, I lost my wife due to these damned night shifts," Reinitzer continued. "I always thought, only some minutes more, only one hour, only one test – and one night I came home and she was gone, leaving me a note she don't want to be married to a phone saying 'I'll be late'."

_You lost your wife, but I will never have one, if I won't be successful! Don't you understand? _He left the words unspoken and had his gaze still fixed on the jewelry.

The jewelry.

The crystal structure.

The structure…

Westlake jumped from his seat and nearly pushed Reinitzer aside.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset-"

"I need the sam'les from test line 256 – B!"

Hendrik Reinitzer tried to collect himself and to adjust to the sudden change of subject, while his colleague ran past him into the laboratory. The place was empty at this hour; they were the only two people still working. But within the next minutes, it became as busy here as if the whole staff was on duty.

**=== Next night / New Jersey ===**

The sun was setting and Claire looked out of the window, watching the cats coming to their feeding place in the garden and waiting for Peyton either to arrive or to call. He hadn't been home for two days now, and she began worrying. Of course, she knew how he buried himself in his work, she knew how determined and stubborn he could be – he had to be. She didn't reprimand this, but she was worried. The more she was longing for him, the rarer he was at home at all.

Claire had met her father once since she moved out of the house of her parents; at an official date concerning the 'kind donation' for the Medical Department. They hadn't talked much, however the young woman had the impression Frank Deveraux searched a way to say sorry without giving up too much. She didn't know how to react. If he didn't say at least a little word, she couldn't move on as if nothing had happened! Concerning her mother, Claire only knew she refused to see her. Jenna had told her to have heard Anna Deveraux saying she did not want to watch her 'little baby withering away' and 'locked up in solitude'. Her mother didn't understand anything. Claire began to wonder, if she had ever tried to understand. As for the solitude… well, she had been to some invitations by Jenna or other friends, but she had discovered she had not much in common with them anymore. The time when she hang out in the scene-clubs with them and went shopping in the expensive lanes seemed that far away! Did she regret it? No, she answered herself. And the opinions of her family or some of her acquaintances did not interest her.

She sensed a cold wet nose in her hand and padded Jerky.

Time for his little evening workout! The dog answered with a happy barking.

…

Somewhat before midnight, Claire had fallen asleep a book in her hands and still waiting for a call from the laboratory. She dreamt of a walk on the beach and deep kisses in the sunset…

Slowly she woke up, pulled by the gentle touch of lips not belonging to the hazy realm of fantasies, but to reality. Opening her eyes, and blinking against the light, she discovered Peyton kneeling at her side. His face was whole and unmarred, with that smile she loved so much. She reached out and followed his traits with her hand, just to make sure it was reality.

"You've made it! This is so… amazing!"

He kissed her again. "I worked on it for the last two days and nights. A simple molecular bridge was all that was still missing, but I had to find it!"

"You didn't say a word you were that close!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. … Claire, Claire, my love…" For a long moment, they just rested there, arms put around each other.

Then he took the little box with the ring out of his pocket and opened it. He had waited so long, he had imagined this moment for so long. But now he nearly stumbled over the words, though, and had the impression to sound like a stupid schoolboy. "Claire… do you want… to marry me?"

"I will," she whispered, "of course I will!"

He put the ring onto her finger, and they both radiated with joy. The dream had finally broken through into the reality, and spread its light all over the remnants of darkness.

"So, search something gorgeous to dress in; we will go out!"

"Uh – whereto?"

"Anywhere you want, and as long as you want!"

...THE END...

(Well, I hope, this ending is romantic enough….)


End file.
